Coded
D
Dm W
0
Altın Yaprak
Everyone has their own number
In the crude, glorified system.
Everyone has their own password,
To access tainted information;
Amidst the jungle of advertising,
And, seemingly, casual propaganda.
Many are turned on by notions
Of justice, freedom and passion;
As they exist in magazines.
Many see soft lights & roses;
While some see cages & mazes.
Some see their dream visions fading
In the swamp of the spectacle;
In the age of the hyper real.
Bu şiiri puanla
Henüz puan verilmemiş