if you find yourself standingat the end of your linelooking for a
piece of somethingmaybe a piece of mindfed up, lost, and run
downnowhere to hold ontired of, take your place at the end
sonwe'll get to you one by oneno light ever shinesdead end
tears that drymaybe a waste of words and timenever a waste of
lifeevery hour will be spentfilling a quota, just getting
alonghandcuffs hurt worsewhen you've done nothing wrongno
thanks to the treadmillno thanks to the grindstonethere's
plenty of dissent fromthese rungs belowthe clockwork of
destructionhanging low over our headsalways a smokestack cloudor
a slow-walking deathno light ever shinesdead-end tears that
drymaybe a waste of words and timenever a waste of lifeno thanks
to the treadmillno thanks to the grindstonethere's plenty of
dissent fromthese rungs belowthe clockwork of destructionhanging
low over our headsalways a smokestack cloudor a slow-walking
deathno light ever shinesdead-end tears that drymaybe a waste of
words and timenever a waste of lifemaybe a waste of words and
timenever a waste of life