We are the cock-eyed children left to babble in tarantula glue.
We are the shock-eyed children left to suckle straw in the soap opera zoo.
We are the engines pumping out children strangled by static from the noisy sun.
So won't you tell us what's brewing in your trenches?
Let us see what you've got hidden under the web.
Come on, come on, what's listening in those stretch marks?
Tell us, tell us, taxman, what you meant when you said...
Sleep, eat, own, fuck,
Abandoned like a bombed out conversation.
Phone, TV, sweets, suck,
I pledge allegiance to the small talk nation.
Wrapped, packed, soiled, stacked,
Gaping like a cracked open piñata
Counted, measured, copied, faxed,
Pink tarantula teeth in our pina coladas.