Hipsters with hats to hide their ordinary minds
Young men in button-down shirts spouting political prophecies to prove a point
Too cut and dry to see there’s more to it all than a dot at the end of a line.
Because lines are endless and so is time
But they wouldn’t know because their grand silver watches pull their puppet strings
So they run just to hide from their tick-tocking pride
A pocket of bombs to blow up their lies
And just as they’re reaching their cubicle crate
White Rabbit runs by them to tell them they’re late