We're world industry's thoughtlords
The entertainment wing
We keep you all in line


By fixing your free will
Surround you with pop fantasies

Just slightly out of reach
To soften all the blows
Of your forced daily routine


We strip-mine your underground culture
Take the bite out and rinse it clean

Give ourselves credit for creating it
Then sell it back to you
At twice the price


Our pool of talent vampires
Has blown into your town

To dazzle, sign and milk you
All strictly on our own terms


You think you've got a lot to say
We'll change that real soon
You're not a person anymore

We've made you a cartoon

By the time we're through remolding you

You won't even recognize your face
There's no end to the eager beavers
Drawn the moths to our Babylon's mirage


Conveyor belt of fleshdunce
They all want to do the fleshdance

Conveyor belt of fleshdunce
Who all want to do the fleshdance