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Through seas of countless choices I'm chosen once again, To fill the air with crafted sound....
You give me space, in your space, a window in your time,
At a level which your soul allows

But when I look around,
We seem tired of all this....

We flick the GPS on now to find our pastures new,
Follow directions on the screen,
And find our way to something we never knew was there,
And keep it on our machines.

But when I look around,
We seem tired, uninspired by all we have to choose,
And each day there are more new people at the door,
They wave their products in our faces,
We've heard it all before!

Through dislocating TV and the glossy-printed word,
We sample culture in small spoons,
We think we know that riff but where in the world?
Did we ever hear that nagging tune?*

But when I look around,
We seem tired, uninspired by all we have to choose,
And each day there are more new people at the door,
They wave their products in our faces,
We've heard it all before!

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