He gets up,
thinks of it again
Doesn't talk to his parents
He takes the bus, his MP3 player
Metal booms in his ears
He watches the life of all the people who go straight to the slaughter
This uselessness sometimes overpowering us, so you begin to see hope
The cheerleaders got eyes like black suns
They smell of cheeseburgers ready to be eaten
They smell of bank cards
The repeating class rooms
The teachers who all seem to be stoned
There are matrices at the black boards
Too many unknowns in the equation
On the bus, in the tram
In class
In the factories of the unemployed
Yeah, in the staff room
They are tired, they are surrounded
Pass on the sponge or let it fall
Take the gloves, box your way through
At the demonstrations,
the cocktail evenings
At the parties in the sun
Got to see the level of music
And social structures
Got to listen to their radio programmes
What they talk about during break
Got to see the flashing strings
In school, the more vulgar the teens are
The wetter become the bodies of our armies
That's Gucci, that's a goddamn taste
That's the syndrome of our era
That's Chanel, that's D&G
You get all dolled up and you like it
Always consumable
Tell me, when do we get to fuck something else
Than bulletproof vests
Than the painful truth
On the bus, in the tram
In class
In the factories of the unemployed
Yeah, in the staff room
They are tired, they are surrounded
Pass on the sponge or let it fall
Take the gloves, box your way through
At the demonstrations, the cocktail evenings
At the parties in the sun
Sure, in kiddie land it's Gucci, there's some goddamn taste
Woe to the one who speaks from the heart that's not in fashion in these times
Who flows through our families
The education of our kids
On the market for textiles you've got to make money
The cheerleaders got eyes like black suns
They smell of cheeseburgers, ready to be eaten
They smell of bank cards
You make your mark to forget
The damn life you left
At the demonstrations,
the cocktail evenings
Yes, at the classes
in the sun...
On the bus, in the tram
In class
At the demonstrations,
the cocktail evenings
At the parties in the sun...
At the demonstrations,
The cocktail evenings
At the parties in the sun
At the demonstrations,
The cocktail evenings
At the parties...
On the bus, in the tram
In class
At the demonstrations,
The cocktail evenings
At the parties in the sun
In the factories of the unemployed
In the staff room
In the frailness of our gleam
Woe to the one who speaks from the heart
On the bus, in the tram
In class
At the demonstrations,
The cocktail evenings
At the parties in the sun