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All look inwards as they march to the centre eyes shut
Tourist commuters picture picture postcards
(When they're in they want out)
and pretend that they are better than their boring roots suggest
Celebrate the markup on things they've bought for so much less
Trading hours in cubicles for a week sat by the pool
Look at them they've got it all
When we get home we pretend
That we're the only ones in a sea of dickheads
Do you ever think we could compete
With the myths and the glamour that your so enamoured with?
Do you need a holiday from your life?
Do you need to get away from youself?
Are you content in misery
I'll take you some place you've never seen
There's things down the road you won't believe
Past chain pubs and car parks
Futures are carved in stone
Grey chunks of wasteland will be here long after we've gone
You wont escape your fate in the meat market
There's too many people you know
A race for individuality
You've got to do it alone
Building a community
Takes some vulnerability
But you've got nothing to show