Product of Industry

I am the product of Industry,
break these chains and set me free.
I am the dirt that goes unseen.
Always sterile, never clean.
We're all cogs, we're incomplete.
In a machine that's obselete.
Yet we just keep moving on,
as our lives drift into oblivion.

Untested.
Infested.
Ingested.
Digested.

Eat the new burger, drink the new beer.
Vote for new gov'ment and a new career.
Hope that it will bring releif,
but it's the same old monster with brand new teeth.
Type on the keyboard, bang on the drum,
live in the suburb, die in the slum.
Go for your dream, while there's still time,
or be a machine in the production line.

Untested.
Infested.
Ingested.
Digested.

Flesh on concrete, bones of steel,
silicon brain, it does not feel.
Feeds on dreams from every boy and girl,
and crap's shiny palstic into the world.
We, the dung beatles, all swarm around,
to marvel at the new s**t we found.
I sell my soul, to buy a piece for me,
cause I was told it was good by the man on TV.

Untested.
Infested.
Ingested.
Digested.

Infected.
Inspected.
Injected.
Disected.

I leave behind an empty bed.
Urine yellow and blood red.
The company would like to apologise,
for the inconveniance to any other lives...