The world is a machine We are all cogs on the wheel Blind idealism toward
The "next step" in evolution However, if we are just aimlessly evolving
Throughout time, any idea of humanity trying to work toward some "purpose"
Is blind, meaningless ambition, and humankind becomes a sort of machine –
Churning and shifting gears, but never actually achieving a goal But what
Good is a machine without a purpose? The man chooses to, in his mind,
"stop" the machine; detach himself from the world, and the machine Not
That such detachment is a good thing, but to fully understand truth, he
Must first see himself outside of the "machine" (Themes borrowed from a
Short story of the same name Read here)

A cold steel womb A distorted view A deafening hum that won't be subdued
We've found our being within this churning, and the gears that are turning,
But to what end?
To what end?

This is not what I'm meant for, this is not what I am
A cog, a spoke in the machinery of men that never takes us to where we
Haven't been

Is it too late to take this all back?
If I plant my feet upon this trail without a reason or destination,
Then this ship has sunk before it sailed

An endless churning roar, a labyrinth of steel and ore
Our blood becomes the oil, a meaningless, purposeless toil

You are all mindless sheep, just a piece of the machine
Keep fueling your hopeless dreams, they will never mean a thing

Detach: can we pull these wires from our veins? Divide our flesh, our
Blood, our names
In the face of the machine my reflection stands and turns, as I walk I'm
Never coming back