Rolling up tab ends that the baby's collected   Waiting for the number that clicks on the wall.   It's open season on the weak and the feeble   Their meagre ambitions, their impotent fury   There's bullet proof glass in case there is trouble   No doors in the building between this side and that side.      I've tried to wrestle some unbalanced nightmare   Tell myself over that I don't really live here   But the boys run away leaving blood on the pavement   And a little crowd gathered to watch you pick yourself up   Joining the queue at the video library   To watch ninety five minutes of simulated torture       The conference hall rings to the standing ovation   The people in blue ties rise from the podium   Crazy with power, blinded by vision   The mass-chosen leaders for a brutalised nation