Texty: Million Dead. Other. Bovine Spungiform Economics.

The maternity ward
Where I was born
Was knocked down in the first gulf war
To build an airport
For housing Allied steel,
For upholding ideals,
Like a stable petroleum price
And consumer choice.
Oh Lord won't you buy me
Any kind of car- I've walked so far.
Our few remaining parks
Are being smothered by cinemas
And the requisite stock of carparks
(Which aren't the same).
And our children will rejoice
In unbridled freedom of choice
Of superstores and different brands of
Cultural decay.
You only get out what you put in
And all that we pay is credence sincere
At the altars of competition and desire
All choice and no need
Makes Jack a dull economist
They're selling adspace on
The subway walls,
And privatizing the tenemant halls-
Prophet and cause superseded
By profit and loss.
They'd have Marshall's mustacioed face
Staring down from every public place
If they taught honest history in school
And if people knew who he was.
Oh Lord won't you buy me
Any kind of car- I've walked so very
Far away from where I began.