I am a product. I am a symbol, of endless, hopeless, [bad word] 
aimless games.

I’m a glossy package on the supermarket shelf. My contents
aren’t fit for human consumption. My ingredients will seize up
your body’s function. I am the dirt that everyone walks on. I am
the orphan nobody wants. I am the staircarpet everyone walks
on. I am the leper nobody wants to touch.........much.

I am a sample. I am a scapegoat of useless, futureless, endless,
mindless ideas.

I am a number on the paper you file away. I’m a portfolio you
stick in the drawer. I’m the fool you try to scare when you say,
“We know all about you, of that you can be sure,” well, I don’t
want your crazy system, I don’t want to be on your files. Your
temptations I try to resist them cos I know what hides beneath
your smiles, it’s.......EST.

I am a subject. I am a topic for useless, futureless, endless,
mindless debates.

You think up ways that you can hide me from the naive eyes of
your figurehead, but don’t you find that it ain’t easy? Wouldn’t you
love to see me dead? Your answer is to give me treatment for
crying out when you give me pain, leave me with no possible
remnant, you poke your knives into my brain, you send me
insane.

I’m an example. I’m no hero of the great, intelligent, magnificent,
human race.

I’m part of the race that kills for possessions, part of the race
that’s wiping itself out. I’m part of the race that’s got crazy
obsessions like locking people up, not letting them out. I hate the
living dead and their work in factories. They go like sheep to
their production lines. They live on illusions, don’t face the
realities, all they live for is that big blue sign, it says...Ford.
I’M BORED, BORED, BORED.