Fostering belief in the world is not an easy thing
In this bland age of stuff that no one needs
But we all buy
Blinded by the constipationary blurbs forced from our throats
Banal expressions of conformist shit
That passes for office gossip
Keeping our hands in the middle
Where poltics now dwells
Meaning nothing for the masses
Just a pay day for the well-to-do
Well, do we care about the state of things is our own time
Or at any time gone by
That could have taught us how to die
With dignity
And live with honour
Let we meander pointlessly
Pointing at the pictures
And pretending they are feelings
As we stick them in the albums
For our kids' kids to be sick on
As they look back on our time
And wonder why we let it all
Fall to little pieces
That are sold straight back to us.