All you little Zombies in your dirty little boots
Shuffling around, like you've got nothing to lose
Is there nothing for you in this age of information
Caught in a state of constant hesitation
This must be a mistake
They wanted gratitude
For making us slaves
How much more can we take
The bruned the soil
Now the childeren wil have to pay
All you happy people in your dirty little houses
What have you done to my april showers
What have you done, what have you done
Did you hear that the father killed his son