I'll Play That Fiddle For You

As odd as it may seem
This reality is only a dream
Like millions of insects freezing to death
Sociopath is my mathematics
The final answer is zero
C'mon, you'd love to be the superhero

The processed foods of your labors
Have decayed into disease
And the sweat you are dripping
Is the milk you consume with ease
Pick the peddles off of my flower
I'll reveal the lies you told during the last hour
Your passion is sour
My control is power