Why don't we all strap bombs to our chests?
And ride our bikes to the next G7 picnic
Seems easier with every clock tick

But whose will would that represent?
Mine, yours, the rank and file, our better yet
The government?

But I don't want to catalyze, synthesize
The second final solution
Don't want to be the Steve Smith of the revolution

Here's an easy analogy, we're the Oilers
The World Bank, the Flames
Two minutes remain in the seventh game
Of the best of 7 series

Jesus saves, Gretzky scores
The workers slave, the rich get more
One wrong move, we risk the cup
Play the man, not the puck

Why don't we plant a mechanic virus
And erase the memory
Of the machines that maintain this capitalist dynasty?
And yes, I recognize the irony
The system I oppose affords me the luxury of biting the hand that feeds
That's exactly why privileged fucks like me should feel obliged to whine and kick and scream
Until everyone has everything they need