We're world industry's thoughtlords The entertainment wing We keep you all in line
By fixing your free will Surround you with pop fantasies Just slightly out of reach To soften all the blows Of your forced daily routine
We strip-mine your underground culture Take the bite out and rinse it clean Give ourselves credit for creating it Then sell it back to you At twice the price
Our pool of talent vampires Has blown into your town To dazzle, sign and milk you All strictly on our own terms
You think you've got a lot to say We'll change that real soon You're not a person anymore We've made you a cartoon
By the time we're through remolding you You won't even recognize your face There's no end to the eager beavers Drawn the moths to our Babylon's mirage
Conveyor belt of fleshdunce They all want to do the fleshdance Conveyor belt of fleshdunce Who all want to do the fleshdance
