Victims lie in their open graves They let us out on Saturdays We sit and stare at cathode rays We sit and stare until we're paid All these devices All of these machines Every convenience Everything we need All these devices All of these machines Picking us clean I think my mind has turned to sand I feel the grains going through my hands It's getting hard to comprehend Where the system ends And I begin All these devices All of these machines Every convenience Everything we need All these devices All of these machines Picking us clean