Consortium Y2K

Subliminal propaganda, corporate theft, no conscience left

Is there something wrong in the land of the freak?

Behind the so-called ideals, shameful and odious lies

Chromed scum, masters in disguise selling shreds of paradise

They twist laws, crawl in marble gutters

Playing with lives like they juggle with numbers

Some people rob us with a fountain pen

Even worst: we're helpless when such things happen

Oh! They surely do it with standing and grandeur

Criminal measures wrapped in golden words

Should we applause their falsity and their tax-free philanthropy?

Yes I wanna be politically incorrect

And plunge my fingers deep in the unscarred wounds

Medias can spread their praises, don't give a damn

I won't pay a facelift to the gruesome minds

What's the gist of this joke? We're forced fed with illusions!

Mesmerized mass, stuck in a rut, caught in a web, paralysed

Broken hope, downhill slope, slow decay, corruption's heydays

So many struggles to strangle the witnesses…

Too many sickening truths in confidential reports…

So many reasons to burn the compromising proofs…

So much dishonesty rightfully breeds contempt.

Overthrown democracies, moral bankruptcies

Falsified archives, a jigsaw puzzle to analyse

Contradictory information, a labyrinth of deforming mirrors

Suspicion is not dissidence; it's a right we must all claim

Listen to my blazing diatribe, my desperate anthem

Here and now my revolt growls

as I spew sick rhymes for a troubled world

The explosive chronicle of an epoch of silent wrath

A tragedy tattooed in the back of a blind.