| It’s time to celebrate, to come out and play
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| We’ve been counting down the days, this weekend we’ve got a bank holiday!
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| We’re as sick with expectation as we are with what we’re escaping
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| Lock up the house, load up the car
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| We’ve twenty-four hours to spend in a goddamn theme park
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| We are so grateful for our new state-funded stately pleasure dome
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| We just commute from one end of the conveyor belt to the other
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| Shock and awe and an over-priced gift-shop
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| You didn’t have fun if you didn’t buy the t-shirt
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| Paying through the nose so you can prick-tease your animal instincts
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| Art starts to imitate life in the factory
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| The factory’s a prison, so art is seen to atrophy
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| All our days off in front of the TV instead of a stock screen
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| We just commute from one end of the conveyor belt to the other
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| Oh, the kids who would’ve led the unions in the past now grow up staying silent
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| in darkened cinemas
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| If every hour that I have spent stuck in a circus was spent learning a language
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| I’d have so much more to say
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| And if every penny that I have spent on processed bread was spent on growing my
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| own food
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| My skin wouldn’t look so grey
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| Work and rest and play safe in the knowledge that this is the only way
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| The hand that feeds chooses the menu, but I’m a fussy eater
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| Work rest and decay
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| One commodity a day will keep subversive daydreams away |