We need Prozac for the world,
To cool the raging economy.
To quash the illness,
A kind of chemical stillness.
Kids fall behind while we all walk blind
into the mincing machine,
Scoffing down deadness with steely smiles,
as the pharmaceuticals stack their piles.
A grand old magic trick, one that makes you sick,
the rug falling right before your eyes,
Mass hibernation in wombs of indifference,
drink down our apathy with chasers of adherence.
And you think you play no part?
A pawn shuffling aimlessly into the dark.
But, you’re here, and you breathe, and you do,
So buckle up and throw a brick or two.
But I’m alright, Jack.
Someone else will pick up the slack.
The dicks run the show, swinging like pendulums.
We just watch with open mouths, make no sound.
A whitewash of power and influence, and fly-trap pockets,
Things are crumbling down here; lets all board the space rocket.
We will lead you through this—we will.
We will do what we need to do, but for who?
We will don our gas masks and cut your cord,
Hide in the bubble, away from the hungry hoards.
I don’t mean to be blunt, but you must be some sort of c——,
if you catch my drift?
A lovely, nauseating Fluoxetine.
Transforming nightmares into dreams.
To stop us feeling lost.
We need Prozac for the world.
But what will be the cost?