Beautiful dream, glorious ideal:
Everyone born free to live, to choose, to do as they please,
Not born into servitude and slavery to the Emperor Queen
Condemned to live life as worker-drone bees.
But dreams are nothing but mind-mist and hope,
Ideals useless if merely flicker-shadows on the cave wall
Mist, Hope and Shadows a poor foundation make
A house so built can do nothing else but fall.
Why more concerned who stands for the Special Song
Than fellow human-citizens starving, murdered in the streets?
Too much time spent ensuring everyone shits in the proper place,
Legislating what adults do between their own sheets.
Nobody likes to be told how to live, who to love,
What to smoke, who to fuck, where to piss and shit,
What songs to sing, what books to read,
What to believe, what to think, when to stand and when to sit.