Go back to your violent grace Your elegant waste Your newspaper paste Trained tweaker taste It’s all good It’s all legal after all But the future is moving Too slow at a rapid pace When the rabid ones Are not free to die An every electrical device Unmoving, ruins your life Soon the candles won’t burn fire And the night will tame all desire Slave to light sockets Which were paid for from your pocket You’re walking on a street of waves An even dead trees somehow misbehave When on every corner, inside them all There’s the dearest, faintest, little hum Yeah, there’s always an end to this But knowing them they’ll ruin it Do a down periscope on your soul Is there anywhere left to go That’s not gridlocked or sold Well, now I really know The worst is yet to come