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Dust To Dust

This song is by Zearle.

What're we here for?
Is there some heavenly being who is seeing every step we take? It's fate?
There's no afterlife free from the strife.
There's no tomorrow in space.
The past is vast but can be erased,
Chipped away by time.

All those gods who failed to appear?
It's clear, have no fear, their logic is derailed.
They're a figment of our minds.
They're the weakness that binds us to this wheel
Where they can steal all that's real,
The time we take to grind out our next meal,
Plus the extra we pay to stay that way so we can say,
"God loves us, he chooses to make us losers".
Our turn to sacrifice our lives in paradise for theirs in greedy vice.

We built their buildings that rot and fall,
Filled their malls answering television's calls,
But all their silly monuments must defer to time,
Rust to rust as the past declines
'Cause only lies can eat the mind.
It's like the old paradigm of time,
Ozymandias couldn't stop the tide and nor can you.
Your bones reside in the same flesh and earth and eons
But you can't cross over.
One life is offered.

They lied when they said that
Above some organized system existed
To dish out favors while it listened to your little prayers,
Meddled in your financial status and personal affairs.
Yeah right! Did they throw you?
Did they bestow on you some special right as an insight into your space?
Some fabled decree that we all had to suffer and bleed for some ultimate payoff?
When will these bastards lay off?
When will we be free to recognize and agree with all humanity?

What a joke! Our lives are in smoke.
The ultimate drug is a self-induced shrug.
Every time we get nailed to the cross, we become equipped to accept our loss.
Eternally we accept our cost;
We sell ourselves cheap and, by some leap of faith, keep producing their wealth.
What a joke to have to wait,
Begging some patron saint to get some cosmic welfare and a bigger share
All the while unaware of the real dialectics that affect us and elect us to be master or slave
In this land of the free and home of the brave.

You make a deal with the ones who steal.
You're surplus labor.
Why does a god need to arrange a system of patronage?
Like a mafia boss, he can toss off the deal and make you pay the cost of his operation.
All the wealth of the land he stands on is yours.
You're on hand to make it better.
In the next life, you'll get a letter of recommendation?
This is your foundation of faith in a power you can't trace?
What a way to run the planet.
How can we stand it?
It's no wonder we're still barking at the moon
Worshiping this or that secret object in space,
Like it's looking down on our subjective ratrace.

Another joke is
When they let you know it's your fate to be second rate.
You can't just irritate the gods of above.
You try to change the state of things,
The rate that they pay for your wheel and your womb,
Every day on your way to the grave
They hate you! They equate you with cattle or worse.
The more they confound you, they curse you
With immortal fear that you just might hear
And rip their foolish grins from their double chins.
Fuck a double chin.

You're a waste of protein paste in slow agony,
Watching your life dribble away. Low energy.
Chewed up like bubblegum in the grinding jaws of the corporate maw.
Religion is just a schill, a mental drill into our skulls
So the boys up top can sop up some more cream,
While we scream for tomorrow.
And hope to have enough to keep running away from the bust that's just around the corner,
One thin crust away from the endless crush of death.

Why are we here?
We're just a gob of plasm,
Just a spasm of a sperm and an egg.
We're just a random peg in a genetic puzzle,
Just a tiny piece of the pie,
But as far as the eye can see, we're sharing the same world, the earth and the sea.
It's a world of promise if you look.
If you take away all that mystic hype, things don't happen until the time is right.

The material fact is: Every time we act, we produce.
I'm a proletariat, what the fuck is your excuse?
You see, comrade, production is appealing to us.
We must create a society to be great in.
From whore to hero in one instance of thought?
Can you be bought and sold for the rest of your days
In some religious haze while you raise the lazy bourgeois?

I'm amazed that you can't see this conclusion,
Like I'm losing to your primeval barbarics.
Since you were five, you've had to survive
The demons of hell when the dead came alive.
Now, you still can't believe that it was all a tease
To make you release amounts to their credit accounts,
So you stayed a slave while the churches maintained
Possession of your soul.
Hell no, that's worthless.

And they had the sense to rent your existence,
Risk your hit of eternal bliss if you mess with
Their system. It's legal oppression,
A lesson in brainwashing,
A session with depression.
No matter what you do, the fault lies with you.

Your faith is the price of reducing corruption.
If you wise up it means interruption.
It's their assumption that you'll never be free,
That you'll never have the ability to see
Through 'em.

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