The people of straight-land
All live in a row.
Tiny little boxes, no-where to go.
You've got to get a job
To maintain the position.
A bright happy dream
As prescribed by your physician.
The people of straight-land
Have really got it made.
A warm friendly sleep
From the cradle to the grave.
A bright plastic lie of cash and credit.
A huge, grey fantasy
You'll really want to edit.
The people of straight-land
Are really not alive.
We walk and speak but only just survive.
We move around but under direction.
We cannot see the larger perception.
The people of straight-land
Make a silent scream.
Desperate to escape
This d**h day-dream.
Rotting from the inside
It's really not polite.
You've got to shield your eyes
From such an everyday sight