It looks like a full-time job
With a shift that never ends
A failing agency
Advertising yourself to your own friends
But no-one wants to buy into your brand
Cos everybody runs their own lemonade stand
And no matter how much sugar they add in
You still can taste the concentrate
You still can taste the acetate
Monosodium glutamate
And saccharine
You could be the salt of the earth
Bitter-sweet, or sourpuss
Even the fastest self-esteem engine
Won't turn down a little push
But no-one wants to be caught, cowering
Caught in the crosshairs of that targeted marketing
Cause even though they let you in
To that nightclub in Berlin
It looks like a full-time job
Makes you wonder who it's for
Your jeans say '1993'
But this shit says '84'