Life has gone astray
for broken men with bills to pay,
enslaved by debt they've grown

from hope... now lost.

They sky is turning grey

obscuring dreams we used to chase,
and freedom feels so very far away.
...so far away.


We are Boxmakers conforming time.
We make the things we need but can't afford to buy.

We are supplier.
We are demand.
We feed the mouth resolving strength to bite the hand.


And we are Boxmen


Purgatorial,
complacency is all we know.
To fight the desperate primal voice inside

we will abide (or die).

We are Boxmakers conforming time.

We make the things we need but can't afford to buy.
We are supplier.
We are demand.

We feed the mouth resolving strength to bite the hand.

We are Boxmakers conforming time.

We make the things we need but can't afford to buy.
We are supplier.
We are demand.

We feed the hope
reserving strength
that given time

this plight will end
and we'll dream again!


And I am a Boxman...