The rigor mortis of life

what do labels say
about our lives of molded clay  
as we're sculped and fired  
in the shapes society desired  
then cast to the winds of fate  
by judgements made in haste  
  
what do labels say  
as we work and toil every day  
and are souls are placed in rows  
is this the life we freely chose?  
being afraid of this internal strife  
we chose the rigor mortis of life  
   
what do labels say  
as we act like animals at bay  
and we're placed in cubbyholes  
wondering if we ever had control  
do we even know what we're fleeing  
when we runaway screaming    
"I'm a human being"