Yeah, I wonder how the hell personal space became
A personal box without a light to crash the door to life
The need to look at ourselves radically and try to strip
Ourselves of the insulation that has surronded us again

Fighting the growing conspiracy, energy drives my hate
This is 2000, let's touch our glasses, but are we having fun yet
You end up worrying about worry, aren't we just a bunch of pussies

A society whose chief weapon is the consumerist hypercane
Which insists the IKEA flatpacks will make you wellrounded
Ripping wounds that never heal for others to throw salt on it
But you'll see the pain is what I need to dig your grave, asshole
You end up worrying about worry, aren't we just a bunch of pussies

Fighting the growing conspiracy, energy drives my hate
This is 2000, let's touch our glasses, but are we having fun yet
You end up worrying about worry, aren't we just a bunch of pussies