Your golden bombs go off

Your military struts its stuff

You buy and sell and waiting for the big one

Tales that the money's gone

Keep 'em ignorant and stripped of song

Feed the fire, Peace remains the thin one

Oh no, you'll see they'll be crying in your streets

When the Dancer, the Teacher, the Writer ... all fly away

the Players, the Painters

I see you black and white

Computerized and very right

Guns on every door and every window

You're the picture of security

Keep 'em ignorant and you're worry free

No one hears the music at Ground Zero