From ivory towers
to the streets of Paris
the hopeful and hopeless
devour what they've gathered
they all want their chance on the parade
but on epsilon streets it only rains
erroneous stale induced calm
of tropical hibiscus and cool lemon grass
in neat little packaging
and the suits milk their crops
and shout
make me king!
yeah one day I'll be king!
and none of this will mean anything!
and the lions will all be tamed!
because they all want their chance
their chance on the parade
the young and the widowed
the lonely the echos
our self induced coma
oh god give him soma!
oh give him some functionality
his cold lips feel no reason to breathe
the reason
the treason
vociferous silence  
buy one get one free
or sit there in silence
because everything's on offer
there's nothing to scoff at
the birth of today
for the death of tomorrow