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Million Dead
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Bovine Spungiform Economics
The maternity ward where I was born
Was knocked down in the first gulf war
To build an airport for housing allied steel
For upholding ideals like a stable petroleum price
And consumer choice
Oh Lord, won't you buy me any kind of car?
I've walked so far, our few remaining parks
Are being smothered by cinemas
And the requisite stock of car parks
(Which aren't the same)
And our children will rejoice
In unbridled freedom of choice
Of superstores and different brands of
Cultural decay
You only get out what you put in
And all that we pay is credence sincere
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At the altars of competition and desire
All choice and no need
Makes Jack, a dull economist
They're selling ad space on
The subway walls
And privatizing the tenement halls
Prophet and cause superseded
By profit and loss
They'd have Marshall's mustachioed face
Staring down from every public place
If they taught honest history in school
And if people knew who he was
Oh Lord, won't you buy me any kind of car?
I've walked so very far away from where I began
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