Bread And Circuses Testo

It❝s time to celebrate, to come out and play ❝ we❝ve been counting down the days. This weekend we❝ve got a band holiday! We❝re as sick with expectation as we are with what we❝re escaping. Lock up the house, load up the car, we❝ve twenty-four hours to spend in a goddamn theme park. We are so grateful for our new state-funded stately pleasure dome. We just commute from one end of the conveyor belt to the other. Shock and awe and an over-priced gift-shop ❝ you didn❝t have fun if you didn❝t buy the t-shirt. Paying through the nose so you can prick-tease your animal instincts. Art starts to imitate life in the factory; the factory❝s a prison, so art is seen to atrophy ❝ all our days off in front of the TV instead of a stock screen. We just commute from one end of the conveyor belt to the other. Oh, the kids who would❝ve led the unions in the past now grow up staying silent in darkened cinemas. If every hour that I have spent stuck in a circus was spent learning a language, I❝d have so much more to say. And if every penny that I have spent on processed bread was spent on growing my own food, my skin wouldn❝t look so grey. Work and rest and play safe in the knowledge that this is the only way. The hand that feeds chooses the menu, but I❝m a fussy eater. Work rest and decay. One commodity a day will keep subversive daydreams away