We all laugh on our way to the slaughterhouse, A building so flamboyant, its beauty makes us gasp. Automatons, spurned victim of a conspiracy, That hell’s tycoons still work on with impunity. A sacrifice, a generation on the altar, Ancestors never thought it would go that far. It is written that you reap what you sow, Seeds of materialism and chaos won't bear hope. Growing in shambles and mastering the art of war, Were not our blueprints nor in our agenda, They judge us but our barrister is their history, Full of soldiers guided by beasts in search of currencies. We are the fruits of their efforts and ideologies; No one comes on earth with his own philosophy. Our environment made us who we are, A battalion of automatons who lost their sight.

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