The dead inside smile at today.
Tomorrow they will take the gun.
These are the golems we create.
Nowhere to hide, nowhere to run.
If the Tin Woodman had a heart,
Then maybe things aren't so hopeless.
What makes us human - is it God?
We're sex machines but we make sense.
Let alpha males excite the fools
Whose magic works on New Year's Eve.
We live to feel, to break the rules.
But if we're soulless, why then live?