From the unnatural sound from a modern thing,
a ring of a clock, a waking bot,
The dream through toil of a better day,
paid for with time and the daily grind
As slaves to a system of a fiat master
plasticine killed for an ipad screen
And human links more broken yet,
and yet ignored, we're never bored,
The TV, the nation's babysitter,
Glittering celebs to fill our heads
with constants ads to feed our greed,
the need to buy, don't question why,
the wait for friday night to drink,
to sink away from the toils of the day.
The weekends' formula plays out it's script,
Picked for us, don't make a fuss.
And there comes darkness at Sunday's end,
Pretend you feel like another go on the wheel.