| Dressed up in pretty
|
| pictures
|
| That line the walls of a
|
| teenaged princess.
|
| Pray nightly to the tv screen To false idols that you’ve never seen.
|
| Dance, dance to the wicked sound Of ignorance
|
| and make them so proud
|
| Dance, dance
|
| to the frequencies
|
| Controlled by the profit
|
| agencies.
|
| Chorus: Hey are we all just slaves?
|
| Yeah addicted to fame!
|
| Hey are we all just
|
| slaves?
|
| To bright lights and fear campaigns?
|
| Dressed up
|
| in a plastic guard.
|
| Shrink wrapped for the slaughter yard.
|
| Diluted for the magazines.
|
| Tailor made for the sweet sixteen.
|
| Dance, dance to the wicked sound Of ignorance
|
| and make them so proud.
|
| Dance, dance to the frequencies
|
| Controlled by the profit agencies.
|
| Hey are we all just slaves?
|
| Yeah addicted to fame!
|
| Hey are we all just slaves?
|
| To bright lights and fear
|
| campaigns?
|
| Hey are we all just slaves?
|
| Yeah addicted to fame!
|
| Hey are we all just slaves?
|
| To bright lights and fear
|
| campaigns?
|
| Hey are we all just slaves?
|
| Yeah addicted to fame!
|
| Hey are we all just slaves?
|
| To bright lights and fear
|
| campaigns?
|
| Hey are we all just slaves?
|
| Yeah addicted to fame!
|
| Hey are we all just slaves?
|
| To bright lights and fear
|
| campaigns? |