An idle glance absorbs the terror The weight of proof brings little pleasure The trick's the thing, a cereal measure Mao sifts the shit from trash to treasure
Marching! Marching! Primed and armed, a loose projectile Forced into internal exile
In Apple light, the laptop lackeys Software pedlars rake the readies Backstab sermons sitting pretty Bankrupt, cynics leave the city
Marching! Marching His cupboard bare; his vision hardwired Roving tamer; empty larder
Hearts of gold; no pot to piss in Join the queue of future has-beens A worker's thirst to be at leisure Dissatisfied without measure