They've got an army of accountants counting matchsticks,
And an arsenal of distraction tactics
They'll use our senses against us:
Manipulating desire and consensus
And they'll use guns,
They'll use tear gas
I can hear the sound of boots on broken plate glass

We'll use song as inspiration

To be the rust in their machines is our intention

It's time

We've got to set it right, but these devils can't be fought with fists
Dissent; they want to shut it down
Just run your mouth, boy, you've made their list
I lie down with one eye open now,
I know that sleep is the cousin of death
The hammer's swinging down

Fight back until your last breath

You wonder why we always play it safe?
Our comforts are tying us down,
And holding us back