There are strings [bad word] from a hand, 
They extend to every point across this land. 
And the ants keep moving fast, 
They just blink and nod while miracles slip past. 

There's a face, unearthly clean, 
That stares up at me from every magazine.  [bad word] screens and concrete lines, 
I think I might let my subscription slide. 

There's this song stuck in my brain, 
With the unrelenting pulse of the inane. 
And the words go tra-la-la, 
Tra-la-la-la tra-la-la-la la-da-da. 

There's a tick, and there's a tock. 
They pursue like Hare Krishnas while I walk. 
Storefront signs broadcast the time, 
I think I might let my subscription slide. 

There are words hung in the sky, 
That the crazy children hum while they walk by. 
Human souls on sale for dimes, 
In a game of chutes and [bad word] by mimes. 

There's this voice, it won't shut up. 
Says I should spill my juice and overflow the cup. 
You've [bad word]  and I've got mine. 
I think I might let my subscription slide. 

There [bad word]  and we all subscribe. 
I think I'm gonna let my subscription slide.