THEIR MOLD

Constrained by their proportions

I was stuck in their bubble

Always short on words

To keep me out of trouble

But it's amazing when we notice

That the problem is external

That their cause is diarrhea

And their flaws will stand eternal

Cannot correct the situation

From the inside of their box

Their game's infuriation

Contained by broken locks

Kicked and strained

To find the weakness

Sick and pained

To serve their needs

Restrained by their distortion

While they prick and make you bleed

There's an opening within there

And it is their fatal flaw

Grow your self and it explodes

And breaks their tired locks

Breakaway and take your freedom

Only your thoughts

Have been controlled

So free yourself

-By thinking-

Then you'll no longer fit

Their mold