Raised with commercialism. Raised with lies. Blind to calamity, and focused on the prize. The bread and circuses, the shimmer in our eyes. The fear of the unknown, and the reason of our demise. We could care less who lives, and who dies. Who could care about billions of lives? We care about ourselves, we care about our friends. We shrug about the plastic in the Mariana trench. We shrug about the destruction in the Congo, and the Amazon woods. We stand in line to buy more shiny goods. We are the slavers, we're driving the game. Directing the rickshaw, it's all the same. We are little children, obsessed with our toys. Whilst the world burns around us, we're ignoring the noise.