They fuck you up, your mum and dad, They may not mean to but they do They fill you with the faults they had And add some extra, just for you But they were fucked up in their turn By fools in old style hats and coats Who half the time were soppy-stern And half at one anothers throats Man hands on misery to man It deepens like a coastal shelf Get out as early as you can And don't have any kids yourselfA nursery rhyme for grown-ups, by Anne Clark
As a sleeper in metropolis You are insignificance Dreams become entangled in the system Environment moves over the sleeper: Conditioned air Conditions sedated breathing The sensation of viscose sheets on naked flesh Soft and warm But lonesome in the blackened ocean of night Confined in the helpless safety of desires and dreams We fight our insignificance The harder we fight The higher the wall Outside the cancerous city spreads Like an illness It's symptoms In cars that cruise to inevitable destinations Tailed by the silent spotlights Of society created paranoia No alternative could grow Where love cannot take root No shadows will replace The warmth of your contact Love is dead in metropolis All contact through glove or partition What a waste The City - A wasting disease