| Now that we don’t pay much attention
|
| To what goes up or must come down
|
| We decided not to follow
|
| Apart from that we just don’t care
|
| From a decent crowded journey
|
| Into a private desert land
|
| Up-to-the-minute reviewed autonomy
|
| Proof of independent anonymity
|
| When the highest point of individuality
|
| Culminates in loneliness
|
| We reject our identity
|
| And declare all reflections to be wrong
|
| We, as a team of soloists
|
| Are so unlike that we are desolate
|
| Do we get a kick out of it?
|
| This is just organised limitation
|
| Are we strong enough for our egos?
|
| Is there room to give us space?
|
| I am on my own
|
| Because I sent everybody else away
|
| No one knows how to take me
|
| Without being told
|
| You are on your own
|
| Because you sent everybody else away
|
| No one knows how to take you
|
| Without being told
|
| We can no longer differ from the mainstream
|
| 'Cause we’re insisting on a distinct minority
|
| When finally everybody’s different
|
| Will we be the same again?
|
| With emancipation-labelled foreheads
|
| We proudly present our disintegrity
|
| No box seems shapeless enough
|
| For us to fit in |