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Yeah, I wonder how the hell personal space became A personal box without a light to crash the door to life The need to look at ourselves radically and try to strip Ourselves of the insulation that has surronded us again Fighting the growing conspiracy, energy drives my hate This is 2000, let's touch our glasses, but are we having fun yet You end up worrying about worry, aren't we just a bunch of pussies A society whose chief weapon is the consumerist hypercane Which insists the IKEA flatpacks will make you wellrounded Ripping wounds that never heal for others to throw salt on it But you'll see the pain is what I need to dig your grave, asshole You end up worrying about worry, aren't we just a bunch of pussies Fighting the growing conspiracy, energy drives my hate This is 2000, let's touch our glasses, but are we having fun yet You end up worrying about worry, aren't we just a bunch of pussies From Letras Mania