|
Dressed up in pretty |
|
pictures |
|
That line the walls of a |
|
teenaged princess. |
|
Pray nightly to the tv screen To false idols that you've never seen. |
|
Dance, dance to the wicked sound Of ignorance |
|
and make them so proud |
|
Dance, dance |
|
to the frequencies |
|
Controlled by the profit |
|
agencies. |
|
Chorus: Hey are we all just slaves? |
|
Yeah addicted to fame! |
|
Hey are we all just |
|
slaves? |
|
To bright lights and fear campaigns? |
|
Dressed up |
|
in a plastic guard. |
|
Shrink wrapped for the slaughter yard. |
|
Diluted for the magazines. |
|
Tailor made for the sweet sixteen. |
|
Dance, dance to the wicked sound Of ignorance |
|
and make them so proud. |
|
Dance, dance to the frequencies |
|
Controlled by the profit agencies. |
|
Hey are we all just slaves? |
|
Yeah addicted to fame! |
|
Hey are we all just slaves? |
|
To bright lights and fear |
|
campaigns? |
|
Hey are we all just slaves? |
|
Yeah addicted to fame! |
|
Hey are we all just slaves? |
|
To bright lights and fear |
|
campaigns? |
|
Hey are we all just slaves? |
|
Yeah addicted to fame! |
|
Hey are we all just slaves? |
|
To bright lights and fear |
|
campaigns? |
|
Hey are we all just slaves? |
|
Yeah addicted to fame! |
|
Hey are we all just slaves? |
|
To bright lights and fear |
|
campaigns? |
