Infinite Squalor

Infinite squalor is ushered in,
Like the changing of the seasons,
A natural thing.
Aren't you the clever ones,
Now you have purchase,
To buy up medallions,
And hang them in earnest.

"But how can you blames us? What's to be done?!"
So easy to fuck, so hard to make come.

The lust for labour,
And conspicuous consumption,
Such curious behaviour,
This democratic serfdom.
If you've faith in the system,
Shore up the machine.
Await your end, in mid daydream.


"But how can you blames us? What's to be done?!"
So easy to fuck, so hard to make come.

All shut away now, and tripled locked
With your private libraries,
In your mortgaged box.
The final nail, in this coffin,
Has firmly come, from within.


"But how can you blames us? What's to be done?!"
So easy to fuck, so hard to make come.

Infinite squalor is ushered in,
Like the changing of the seasons,
A natural thing.