this [bad word] machine, this [bad word] machine, this broken head doesn't work
so they're selling it off again
These crooked legs, these twisted arms, these tired feet lost their worth
soon they'll dismantle them

but we're all just part of some giant grand machine
too big to really understand
but we'll do our jobs till we break down and fall

now we just sleepwalk
we drift through the week
a dead procession always dragging its feet
 [bad word] on
our hands are swollen; we all need to sleep
but there's no time, just stitch us up so we'll keep

we're all just part of someone's elaborate plan
chess pieces in some grandiose scheme
but we'll do our jobs till we break down and fall