She stares at the screen at the little words of green. Tries to do remember what to do next. There's a trace of frustration that crosses her face. Searching for the key she should press. And I would help her if I only know how. But these things are a mystery to me too. And it seems that the Corporate eyes they are watching. She fears for her job and the moments are passing. I stare at her nametag and I think to myself. Both you and I we never asked for any of this. So let's take a walk up past the chemical works. Where the sky turns green at night. And we'll talk about getting away from here. Some different kind of life. But even in the freshest mountain air. The jet fighters practise overhead. And they're drilling these hills for uranium deposits. And they'll bury the waste for our children to inherit. And though this is all done for our own benefit. I swear we never asked for any of this. This golden age of communication. Means everyone talks at the same time. And liberty just means the freedom to exploit. Any weakness that you can find. Turn off the TV just for a while. Let us whisper to each other instead. And we'll hope that the Corporate ears do not listen. Lest we find ourselves committing some kind of treason. And filed in the tapes without rhyme without reason. While they tell us that it's all for our own protection.