Go back to your violent grace
Your elegant waste
Your newspaper paste
Trained tweaker taste
It’s all good
It’s all legal after all
But the future is moving
Too slow at a rapid pace
When the rabid ones
Are not free to die
An every electrical device
Unmoving, ruins your life
Soon the candles won’t burn fire
And the night will tame all desire
Slave to light sockets
Which were paid for from your pocket
You’re walking on a street of waves
An even dead trees somehow misbehave
When on every corner, inside them all
There’s the dearest, faintest, little hum
Yeah, there’s always an end to this
But knowing them they’ll ruin it
Do a down periscope on your soul
Is there anywhere left to go
That’s not gridlocked or sold
Well, now I really know
The worst is yet to come