So here's a sale to soothe recession and an ad campaign to calm them credit crisis. At five AM the doors broke open and then a man lay dying on the sales floor. The store was back open by mid-afternoon. We're eating the shit we've been talking. As we search for absolution in these diatribes, we'll find that there's no absolution for the feet of the file floor. It seems we'll trade death for discount as we watch ourselves turn to shit on an LCD screen. We've become the fucking herd and we've become the stampede. I can't seem to plot this point on the map of where we were born and raised. Somewhere in the newspapers my parents read, there is a help wanted ad to replace the frontlines of the free market. I can't seem to plot this point on the charts and graphs that describe how we languish in our economic decline. It seems we'll trade death for discount. We're capable of every fucked up thing that they invite us to be, as we're penned in the gates of the profit margin.
Lyrics submitted by DakotaFloyd