I look up at the ceiling

And pray my tears do not fall,

Pretend I am dealing

With the downfall

of my mental state,

I hope the tears stay put

If not, a mess with be made by mascara

Running down my cheeks, But I will clean it up and reapply

Because we’re all stuck in the 21st century era

And whoever tries to defy,

Is told they are hopeless

But they are the lucky ones

They are not trapped in this hypnotise

They don’t worry about numbers

Number on the scale, the number of their waistline

The number of how many years they’ll be alone

The number they’ll have children

I often think of what they will think

When they find out,

I don’t want to be a slave to the 21st century machine