Between the war and apocalypse, a crowd of us doesn't fit, standing here with hands on hips in a ditch by the super-highway. 

Terrorists on a tourist trip, the pacifist bomb squad blown to bits, i'm wondering what makes me tick and I feel foolish singing My Way.

Generation Y with a jaundiced eye, I don't know what I'm doing here, motivate and make us grow, let it go and watch us die, Generation Y with a wounded eye

In a post-modern shed on the edge of town the work force rallies with a weary frown all they want to do is burn it down sick of this and a week to payday, taking orders from a sacred cow a revolution with an empty round, Jesus Christ wouldn't draw a crowd, I slept like a pig through Mayday

 [bad word] 

This world makes me feel undressed, encourages me to get depressed, [bad word] me up until I'm powerless, steals the wheel I was holding onto, offers something that I can't resist between a clenched fist and a kiss like a smokescreen in the mist three jeers 'cause I belong to...

 [bad word] 

Generation Y with a lazy eye. Ask Generation Y, you'll get no reply.