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