copies of copies of...

You sold your soul to make copies of copies of copies.
One more drink, one more line, one more smoke, one more show, wake up, drag yourself back to the job you hate to pay for the prisons you've created.
Wondering why you don't feel alive, just half dead and everyday, wondering why everything's the same.
Making copies of copies of copies.
Living with closed eyes, you're a modern day slave to everything you say you own.
But, it all owns you and you don't even know it. Time's passing as you keep telling yourself you'll find a way out to something better as you keep taking all the same steps.

**Part inspired by life,
part inspired by Fight Club.