Your belief is a commodity A product to be bought and sold Your faith, a liability To make you easier to control Your convictions manipulated Your intuitions are not your own You're just a number inside a boardroom A statistic, a faceless clone We let you think you're in control We own you right down to your soul Your opinions are ours to shape Like a sculptor molding clay Your Information is ours to take Your confidence, ours to betray Your consent, utterly meaningless A concept from distant days Your privacy, completely trivial A fairy tale whose value has decayed We let you think you're in control We own you right down to your soul Your belief is nothing purposeful Your very essence is pre-ordained Your behavior, fully predictable An algorithm, a link in the chain Your fear is like our gasoline Your information, our nourishment Uncontained and uncontrollable An a**a**in of your dissent We let you think you're in control We own you right down to your soul