Head? Chest? Or Foot?

Three choices. One bullet. one trigger. Guess who gets to pull it? One leader. One thousand slaves. For every throne there's one thousand graves. (give or take a grave) You're all the same. Just part of their machine. Perpetuate their dream. They subsidize your nightclubs and they subsidize your malls. They herd and brand the ma*ses within painted prison walls. Until your freedom of a*sEMBLY becomes the missiles they create or just ma*s delusion dancing to this music that you f**king hate. But I'm not the same. I'm not part of your f**king machine. I'll jeopordize their dream. I'd rather be imprisoned in a George Orwell-ian world, then this pacified society of happy boyz + gurlz. I'd rather know my enemies and let you know the same. Whose windows to smash + whose tires to slash + where to point the f**king blame. One future. Two choices: Oppose them or let them destroy us.