Baby's collected
Waiting for the number
That clicks on the wall
It's open seasons on the weat
And the feeble
Their meagre ambitions
Their impotent fury
There's a bullet proof glass
In case there is trouble
No doors in the building
Between this side and that side
I've tried to wrestle
Some unbalanced nightmare
Tell myself over that I
Don't really live here
But the boys run away
Leaving blood on the pavement
And a little crowd gathered
To watch you pick yourself up
Joining the queue at the
Video library
To watch ninety five minutes
Of simulated torture
The conference hall rings
To the standing ovation
The people in blue ties
Rise from the podium
Crazy with power, blinded by vision
The mass-chosen leaders
For a brutalized nation
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