We're world industry's thoughtlords 
The entertainment wing 
We keep you all in line  
 
By fixing your free will 
Surround you with pop fantasies 
Just slightly out of reach 
To soften all the blows 
Of your forced daily routine  
 
We strip-mine your underground culture 
Take the bite out and rinse it clean 
Give ourselves credit for creating it 
Then sell it back to you 
At twice the price  
 
Our pool of talent vampires 
Has blown into your town 
To dazzle, sign and milk you 
All strictly on our own terms  
 
You think you've got a lot to say 
We'll change that real soon 
You're not a person anymore 
We've made you a cartoon  
 
By the time we're through remolding you 
You won't even recognize your face 
There's no end to the eager beavers 
Drawn the moths to our Babylon's mirage  
 
Conveyor belt of fleshdunce 
They all want to do the fleshdance 
Conveyor belt of fleshdunce 
Who all want to do the fleshdance