------The Wheel Workers
All our power, doesn’t mean anything at all.
All our power, ends in horror, but we don’t learn anything at all.
Holy markets, black next quarter,
The vampire squid needs to feed.
Such disaster, children screaming,
The profits they have decreed.
So we burn it all away,
Or we leave you irradiated.
Suck it dry and lay to waste,
A landscape of desolation.