The New People

 

Introduction

 

Hello,

My name is John Doe,

All that I as is 10 digits,

Filed away in a data bank,

Ten cold digits tell my story,

Alpha plus is my rank.

Promise and wonder fill our brave new world,

Of high technology and analysis,

No new thoughts are born,

They are all out worn,

So we stop thinking and cease to exist.

 

All we are is what we have seen,

The latest propaganda to have been:

A socialist insecurity number,

A ticket to the big match,

A big screen color TV.

A good Sunday ritual,

A membership in the party,

In good standing with the moral majority.

 

The Suburbians

 

Welcome back my friends to a show that's sure to end,

A festival of fools,

A continuium of complacency.

 

Fighting for the almighty buck,

With cunning or just plain luck,

Chasing checks to the bank,

It's the money that decides your rank.

 

What is it that we try so hard to buy,

Something called the American Dream?

Has become just another a twisted lie,

We tell ourselves to still desperations silent scream?

 

Whatever became of our brave new world?

It's really something for the few,

All of it's promise has withered and died,

Killed by accountants in dark gray suites,

Bureaucrats oh so civilized,

That see the world through blinded eyes.

 

Is this purgatory or just the suburbs?

Where the edges are all smoothed over,

A velvet limbo before the void:

Within this rosy wallpaper exist the numbered people,

Living in a world of pooly written television scripts,

With plastic lovers and young republican minds.

 

Rats Racing

 

Fat cats, mall rats, old bats in expensive hats,

Kids in cars, jocks in bars, wanna be movie stars,

Dead heads, red heads, hot lovin newly weds,

Old men, young skin, trying out a brand new sin,

Cops in cars, sushi bars, hippies with old guitars,

Chinese, Japanese, anime sluts on their knees,

Avenue, Revenue, a river place with a view,

Young punks, old drunks, opportunistic political skunks,

Stylish hills, favorite pills, summer time standing still,

Alley cats, spoiled brats, the morbidly fat,

Network news, nightly blues, trailer trash in Italian shoes,

Big wheels, fast deals, corporate licenses to steal,

Bright lights, urban blight, sneaker inspired fire fights,

Liquor stores, cheap whores, serial killers keeping score,

Money madness, chemical gladness, suicidal sadness,

Fast thrills, utility bills, toxic chemical spills,

Crack dealers, soul stealers, carnival fire-eaters,

Garbage men in Pierre Cardin dancing in the winter wind,

Acid dreams, obscure scenes, cars passing in between,

Rebellious fire, hot desire, the world at the end of a wire,

Insane dreams, dying scenes, traffics timeless screams,

Compassion, out of fashion, feelings in traction,

Depression, recession, endless mindnumbing concessions,

Out of breath, wish for death, lose yourself in regret

No time to catch your wind, before it starts all over again.

 

True or false, fact or fiction, insane contradictions,

Run the race, keep the pace or fall flat upon your face,

Frantic action, dissatisfaction, reflection and reaction,

Lose to win and win to lose,

No one gets to choose.

 

A Day in Suburbia

 

The plant down the street had an accident with nuclear fission,

Something is wrong with the Pinto's transmission,

There's a documentry on the tube about Viet-nam,

There's a letter in the mail from Billy Graham.

 

I don't care for spiritual awakening,

It's just another drug that people are taking,

That makes the load easier to bear,

So they mow their lawns and cut their hair.

 

There is a big meeting of the P.T.A.

They want to ban books that make kids gay,

They gather at the river to burn their intellect,

So that dangerous ideas won't infect.

 

What is it so dangerous to learn,

That they would rather see burn?

Could it be that people might see,

That it is possible to think and be free?

 

Suburbian Daddy

 

Jews, junkies, mental flunkies,

Fags, and all sorts of freaks,

Every day they get more spunky,

They even walk the streets.

 

Geeks and freaks and fags and drags,

Is this really modern progress?

Not that I could give a damn,

As long as I am a success.

 

Every day I retreat to the