Beating The Machine (The Accused Remix)

Beating the Machine is a verse challenging the increasing trend of public shaming on social platforms. And a frank narrative as to how the tabloid media are acting as attack force. In a sense, it is an open letter to mankind. Saying, very simply, please be kind.

Listen to Beating The Machine by Richard Charles Stevens (The Accused Remix)

Listen to The Accused by Wishdokta

Love is fluid
Hate is bile
Love runs through it
Hate defiles

Do we not see
That we are feeding the machine
Hating others openly
Is needlessly obscene
Do we not appreciate the weakness of our schemes
We live to be facetious
It’s as heedless as it seems

Making crude assumption based on reams of skewed pretense
Screaming bloody murder when we muse the need to vent
Every hateful word is one much later we’ll repent
For thirty silver pieces are fictitious when they’re spent

All the while
The media are pulling all the strings
Growing ever seedier and clipping all our wings
They create the narrative
Each time the songbird sings
Anything to get us good and riled

They consider us too weak to seek a greater understanding
Meek and mild
Defiled by each decree they have a hand in
Sworn to oath to be the most esteemed earth-born companions
Not a one foreseen to be upstanding
The vision they attest is really no less than outlandish
For they brandish weapons some way from pristine
Lengths they will traverse to hurt are needlessly obscene
Indeed they’re every bit as heedless as they seem

Love is fluid
Hate is bile
Love runs through it
Hate defiles

Needling each seedling unto the point of bleed
Draining veins
Anointing joints with chloroform and bleach
Joining every dot
To further populate their reach
Blotting each horizon with disease
They think us too defeated
To entreat freedom of speech
Consider us too beaten
To seek secrets in their keep
Should we decode the sequence
Then we’re owed no exposition
As we’re given no permission to proceed

Do we not see judgement calls as cause to be concerned
Shoring up the stubborn walls with rubble from the urn
Burning bridges
Turning tricks to topple our opponents
Unaware where to declare the onus

Winning isn’t everything
Indeed it’s barely anything
When victory admits defeat to beaten victims perishing

When did humble origins disown us
When did we succumb to such dishonour
To beg borrow of a bonus
When all the while
These hollow eyed drones clone us
In our droves
No small wonder
We don’t overload

Do we not see
The open road we opt to clutter
Something’s melting in our mouths
It ain’t no knob of butter
Tutting under oath at the life choices of another
Is no way for our voices to recover

Love is fluid
Hate is bile
Love runs through it
Hate defiles

All the while
We puppeteers are pulling all the strings
Growing in enormity and broadening our wings
Should we create the narrative
Each time the songbird sings
Then we’re anything but beaten in the wild

Love is fluid
Hate is bile
Love runs through it
Hate defiles

Winning isn’t everything
Indeed it’s barely anything
When victory admits defeat to beaten victims perishing

All the while
We puppeteers are pulling all the strings
Growing in enormity and broadening our wings
Should we create the narrative
Each time the songbird sings
Then we’re anything but beaten in the wild

Richard Charles Stevens

Keeper of The Crimson Quill

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