Lyrics The War - Om Unit, Jehst

The War

There’s a war going on inside…
(Yo)
There’s a war going on inside
No man is safe from
You can run
But you can’t hide from yourself
Your life is for sale
Your soul’s on the shelf
See a ghost in the mirror
But don’t cry for help
Another robot
Fresh off the conveyor belt
Sniff this, smoke that
Kill off all your braincells
Pimp your girl, pimp your world
Tell em sex sells
In this Petri dish We treading on eggshells
While they play god with your stem cells
I can tell the future
And this isn’t gonna end well
Troops on manoeuvrer
They still looking for the oil well
Blair making money post-office
Like the Royal Mail
Alarm bells ringing
Tip the scale
Before the Devil take us all to Hell
All hail the high exalted alpha male
But the silent runner’s hot on Mother Nature’s trail
«I love it
I love it
I love it
I love it
I love it
I love it
I love it
I love it"
There’s a war going on inside
No man is safe from
You can run
But you can’t hide from the truth
Your life is a raffle
I present the news
Switch the channel
Or stay tuned
You choose
One false move
Move the goalposts
You lose
You’re a faulty robot
With some loose screws
And a short fuse
And it’s evident
That you lack the evidence
To support your views
Form an orderly queue
Let em herd the sheeple
No respect for the sky above you
Or Earth beneath you
Hollow sentiments
Transparent
Your words are see-through!
No love when these back stabbers
Are so deceitful
But I keep my energy positive
Cause life hangs in the balance
Of this dynamic opposites
Humanoid robotics
In this modern metropolis
The battle to control
The consciousness of the populous!
«The riches that we produce are ephemeral.
And as the result of that we are
frustrated, and terribly frustrated.
We feel that the only thing is to go on
getting more and more.
And as a result of that.
the whole landscape begins to
look like the nursery of a spoiled child.
who’s got too many toys and is bored
with them, and throws them away as fast as he gets them
Also we are dedicated to a tremendous war on the basic material dimensions of
time and space.
We want to obliterate their limitations.
We want to get
everything done as fast as possible.
We want to convert the rhythms and the
skills of work into cash
And then rush home to get away from work and begin the real business of life,
to enjoy ourselves.
To be the real point of life, what you rush home to get to,
is to watch, an electronic reproduction of life.
You can’t touch it,
it doesn’t smell, and it has no taste
You might think that people getting home to the real point of life in a robust
material culture would go home to a colossal banquet, or an orgy of love-making,
or a riot of music and dancing;
But nothing of the kind
It turns out to be this purely passive contemplation of a twittering screen.
As you walk through suburban areas at night it doesn’t matter what part of the
community it is, you see mile after mile of darkened houses with that little
electronic screen flickering in the room.
Everybody isolated, watching this
thing.
And thus in no real communion with each other at all
The spectacles one sees on this television it’s perfectly proper to exhibit
people slugging and slaying each other but oh dear no, not people loving each
other, except in a rather restrained way
One can only draw the conclusion that the assumption underlying this is that
expressions of physical love are far more dangerous than expressions of
physical hatred
And it seems to me that a culture that has that sort of assumption is basically
crazy and devoted — unintentionally indeed but nevertheless in-fact devoted not
to survival, but to the actual destruction of life."