Rolling up tab ends that the baby's collected

Waiting for the number that clicks on the wall.

It's open season on the weak and the feeble

Their meagre ambitions, their impotent fury

There's bullet proof glass in case there is trouble

No doors in the building between this side and that side.

I've tried to wrestle some unbalanced nightmare

Tell myself over that I don't really live here

But the boys run away leaving blood on the pavement

And a little crowd gathered to watch you pick yourself up

Joining the queue at the video library

To watch ninety five minutes of simulated torture

The conference hall rings to the standing ovation

The people in blue ties rise from the podium

Crazy with power, blinded by vision

The mass-chosen leaders for a brutalised nation