Everyone's afraid,
afraid of you
afraid of me
afraid of their own family!
And all the while, in the ivory towers
the bastards play their games.
Monopoly, but not with money
with lives, yours and mine.
You don't know their names,
you can't play their games.
You can only die when they tell you
but you can never know why.
They are the puppeteers
they are the vicious bastards.
You are the cannon fodder
you are the vapourised lives.
They'll sell your Granny's soul
for the price of a shiny pot of gold,
and laughing all the way to the bank
it's you they'll have to thank.
