haven't we got somwhere else to be? cash in our collective memories; they go cheap. the lines are open. testing. 1, 2, 3. but disconnection's still our sweetest dream (like it's free). exit, please. call it love with a new face and new guts, a growth industry, 'cause we're all headed west, whatever we think we believe. never have i felt so well-policed. why should i be anything but pleased? sit down. now the best you can be is the beast that they don't want to see, but you'll never get over; you're greasing the adding machine, surveilled and serene. they hype satisfaction until you forget where you've been, and we're all headed west, whatever we think we believe in. call it love with a new face and new guts, a growth industry, but you'll never get over; you're greasing the adding machine, surveilled and serene. they hype satisfaction until you forget where you've been. the exploded view shows that there's nothing cementing the seams.