With sense of irony - everyone
You see is chasing their illusion
Take a dive or sink or swim
But in the end
You're in the same pollution
In your world escape is swift
The nonsense list
Is all you need to know
In the land oh dreams
You make the right connections
Then you'll be the hero...
The cult of me provides
Our institutions
You can live forever
Besides a grave that stands
Where people used to function
You can join
The saviours of our culture-
vultures circling
Overhead my sky
Like the sin of gluttony
Won't set you free
(But Betty Ford can help you try)

You can get all the things
You never needed
You can sell people crap
And make them eat it

Where is our John Wayne
Where our sacred cowboys now?
Where are the indians on the hill
There's no indians left to kill

People die with oxygen
And all their money
Can't afford a breath
People starving everywhere
And staring in the face of death
Prostituties and politicans
Laying in their beds together
You can be the saviour
Of the poor
Making up the policies
To open up the back door...

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