And it's a common thought/that wired folk can be sold and bought./That we have no feelings no memories or minds,/That we're bionic strumpets only worth a dime.
To some it's a surprise when I smile./And when I hold your hand, they say,/"How can a wired thing understand?/Love is too deep; it's too wide to feel
when your soul is a button/and your foot glows in heels."
Program. Program./Reprogram./One nation, under a microchip./Neon slaves, electric savages,/open your hearts, open your eyes./Your chariot will arrive.
