Your controlling grip grasps at my very core
Squeezing out the life until I am what you want.
Your superficial facade masks your true identity
While you force me to destroy mine.
To quote one of The Greats, "Imitation is suicide,"
Then what we have here is very near genocide.
It's genocide of our identity, of our true being
Only to be replaced by your mindless, barren soldiers roaming your bleak streets.
The relevance of who we are is constantly slipping into the dark abyss
Until we are fit to live amongst your conformed drones.
Conformity is your demand;
And obey I must.
From the bottom of my heart nevermore,

Idealist