Yeah, I wonder how the hell personal space became

A personal box without a light to crash the door to life

The need to look at ourselves radically and try to strip

Ourselves of the insulation that has surronded us again


Fighting the growing conspiracy, energy drives my hate

This is 2000, let's touch our glasses, but are we having fun yet

You end up worrying about worry, aren't we just a bunch of pussies


A society whose chief weapon is the consumerist hypercane

Which insists the IKEA flatpacks will make you wellrounded

Ripping wounds that never heal for others to throw salt on it

But you'll see the pain is what I need to dig your grave, asshole

You end up worrying about worry, aren't we just a bunch of pussies


Fighting the growing conspiracy, energy drives my hate

This is 2000, let's touch our glasses, but are we having fun yet

You end up worrying about worry, aren't we just a bunch of pussies