| Formed a straight line, plucking at sound-waves
|
| And oh, for no-one ever
|
| Darkest singing
|
| The days of tripping
|
| Upon snakes are over now
|
| Do you feel empty now?
|
| Do you feel empty now
|
| Inside?
|
| Do you feel empty now
|
| Inside the fascist city?
|
| Empty now?
|
| Inside…
|
| And I’m thinking of euphoria
|
| Spiked on golden splinters
|
| With the church of relativity
|
| All under my fingers
|
| Head up into the bluest skies
|
| Stuck in the glue with the dying flies
|
| Inside the vapour you were grown
|
| In the LSD of the speaker cone
|
| Been given the cobwebs to blow away
|
| Been celebrating each wasted day
|
| In unconditional luxury
|
| Comatose, living life in a sugar cube
|
| Do you feel pleasure now?
|
| Do you feel pleasure now
|
| Inside the fascist body?
|
| Pleaser now
|
| Inside…
|
| Post-acid youth, post-acid youth
|
| Post-acid youth, post-acid youth
|
| Post-acid youth, post-acid youth
|
| Dumb and hooked on fossil fuels
|
| A gorged generation
|
| Speckled and smackey
|
| Singing Prozac is golden
|
| Escaped the prison they called the head
|
| And glittered the bones of the young and dead
|
| On big Imperial chemistry
|
| Elastic, dumb and vulnerable
|
| But somewhere down south
|
| You’re where the birds are singing
|
| You’ll hear the barbed wire doves
|
| Of a million mothers
|
| Is there fulfilment now?
|
| Is there fulfilment now
|
| Inside the fascist psyche?
|
| The fascist psyche
|
| Bring us fulfilment now
|
| Inside
|
| Post-acid youth, post-acid youth
|
| Post-acid youth, post-acid youth
|
| Post-acid youth, post-acid youth |