[Artifice]

remember back when it started, the clashes of class
those left behind were the kind that didn't happen to have
no more rags to riches, the rich live in the ships
floating above death like clouds of ethanol bliss
the downtrodden, impoverished, stuck on the ground
struggle in this barren wasteland with nothin' around
air quality so poor it's a reflection of status
live in these small tanks to escape all of the madness
feel like dying at present cuz the future is futile
but i'm kept alive cuz the higher-ups find me useful
but lives are cut short, often we're gutted
celebrity's stole our hearts long before they were ever comin'
there once was a time seeing stars was important
now they only come out when it's time to harvest our organs