Tis the season to be jealous   Sold out country, right of passage   Behold the first world, entertain me   Mass sedation, stench of bullshit   Whose God unites red, white, and black   Not the one on channel two   So much left to lose, prognosis?   Sleep in anger, rise in petrol   Distant pain of system failure   But there is no conspiracy, a total world control   So much left to lose, right to be abused   Prognosis, fuck   Whose God Unites red, white, and black   Not the one on channel two   So much left to lose, right to be abused   Nothing left to choose   Prognosis, fuck you.