| Yeah, I wonder how the hell personal space became | |
| A personal box without a light to crash the door to life | |
| The need to look at ourselves radically and try to strip | |
| Ourselves of the insulation that has surronded us again | |
| Fighting the growing conspiracy, energy drives my hate | |
| This is 2000, let's touch our glasses, but are we having fun yet | |
| You end up worrying about worry, aren't we just a bunch of pussies | |
| A society whose chief weapon is the consumerist hypercane | |
| Which insists the IKEA flatpacks will make you wellrounded | |
| Ripping wounds that never heal for others to throw salt on it | |
| But you'll see the pain is what I need to dig your grave, asshole | |
| You end up worrying about worry, aren't we just a bunch of pussies | |
| Fighting the growing conspiracy, energy drives my hate | |
| This is 2000, let's touch our glasses, but are we having fun yet | |
| You end up worrying about worry, aren't we just a bunch of pussies |
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