Текст: Yaphet Kotto. Status Symbol.

A will to survive; shackled and silent.
Oppressive self-religion holds us back.
Token hands close tightly around necks.
Neglecting those which would impair them.
Each chosen word burns through my heart.
Complacent standards torn apart.
But there's not room left for ignorance;
Who's held, legs prone to movement, all torn apart;
Who's held back us.