The Ill Effects of Stockholm Syndrome
Experimental acoustic for me.
Story behind the song
Experimenting with effects and satire.
Lyrics
We are a bread line,
Waiting for the cure for our cursed lives,
To arrive in short supply,
From the one who's hands designed,
This disease inside us,
So he might save you,
From his own poison and expect gratitude,
A kiss on the feet of his golden statue,
Or he'll send you back to your dirt home,
To make your meals out of blood and stone,
And he'll gouge out your eyes,
Then condemn you for becoming blind,
Incarcerate you for life,
And sell your children and wife,
To the closest loyal thief at his side,
While you contemplate why you were made to be here,
Rotting away with no purpose but to fear,
Being thrown into a dark cage
Where you name is made to disappear.
