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.