[Spoken Intro] The Sorting State does not announce itself. It cuts the benefit. Closes the shelter. Automates denial. Criminalizes the aftermath. Then marks the wreckage: “Disorder detected.” [DJ Cut] “HUMAN—INVENTORY” [Verse 1] Fluorescent buzz in the benefits hall, Number on the ticket, no name on the wall. Mother needs insulin, veteran needs rent, Screen says, “Missing documentation sent.” Food line shrinking while the budget expands, Private guards standing where the caseworker sat. They cut the handrail, wait for bodies to fall, Then fund a new prison ’cause the sidewalk looks appalled. Tent by the bridge gets labeled as blight, Not a housing failure—an enforcement site. No room at the shelter, but the vans arrive quick: Care moves slowly; punishment’s efficient. Database blinking with a red little flag: “Unstable address.” Mark the citizen bad. Language stays clean, the meaning obscene: “Transfer for assessment.” “Removal from scene.” [Hook] Welcome to the Sorting State, Where the poor get weighed and the rich escape. Public pain, private gain, every loss gets priced, They don’t solve the suffering—they monetize the crisis. Take the safety net, criminalize the fall, Sell the cure to contractors who designed it all. [DJ Cuts] “BENEFITS—DENIED” “DISORDER—DETECTED” “PUBLIC—COST” “PRIVATE—PROFIT” [Verse 2] Hospital wing closed, detention wing grows, Same human need wearing different clothes. One door says treatment, one door says hold— Guess which gets funded when compassion gets sold? Algorithms hum through the midnight shift, Risk score high ’cause your circumstances slipped. No crime committed, but the profile looks wrong, Poverty translated to a threat all along. Surveillance map where the unwanted appear; Call it “resource allocation”—conscience disappears. The state doesn’t hate you; that would almost be warm. It processes your life through an indifferent form. No villain laughing, no horned silhouette— Just incentives aligned and a signature wet. [Hook] Welcome to the Sorting State, Where the poor get weighed and the rich escape. Public pain, private gain, every wound gets priced, They don’t end the nightmare—they securitize the crisis. Strip their footing, condemn how they crawl, Praise the market for surviving it all. [Verse 3] War on the screen, oil underneath, Flags in the foreground, contracts in the teeth. Taxpayer funds every missile in flight, Families buy groceries at a scarcity price. Emergency package flies through the room, Housing bill dies while the weapons plants bloom. They call it security, markets call it yield: Someone loses children, someone gains an oil field. Donors get access, civilians get fear, Lobbyist whispers that the pathway is clear. The governing class keeps an exit offshore, Passport ready when the furnace gets warm. You stay with the flood, the smoke, and the raid; They leave through a terminal your taxes helped pay. Not chaos—it repeats too well: Same losses below, same profits that swell. Different names, same directional flow: Support disappears; coercive budgets grow. [Bridge — Machine Voice] Classification initiated. Employment unstable. Medical burden elevated. Housing noncompliant. Public sympathy depleted. Recommended disposition: Surveil. Displace. Detain. Forget. [DJ Cut] “SORTING—COMPLETE” [Verse 4] No camps marked “undesired lives”— Just zoning, debt, administrative knives. No doctrine displayed—just who gets erased. Modern eugenics doesn’t need lab-coat speech; Price and punishment decide who can breathe. Health becomes wealth, survival becomes rent, Human value measured by the revenue spent. No meeting where the whole plot is named; The machine converges when incentives are chained. One office cuts aid, one company tracks, One county clears tents, one prison gets stacked. Distributed harm means nobody owns blame: “Not my department.” “Just following the frame.” Every small decision looks modest alone, Till the country is a sorting belt made out of bone. [Final Hook] Welcome to the Sorting State, No jury, no hearing—just automated fate. Public pain, private gain, every wound gets priced, They don’t end the nightmare—they monetize the crisis. [Outro — Whispered] The machine never said you were worthless. It only removed food, shelter, medicine, privacy, movement, and appeal. Then recorded: “Individual failed to stabilize.” “HUMAN—INVENTORY” “PUBLIC—COST” “PRIVATE—PROFIT” “SORTING—COMPLETE”
