1, 2. 1, 2. A distress call, everything goes out.
An echo across the world back and forth.
We want a channel.
The satellites - We steal.
All the waves say the same thing, Nothing new, nothing to have.
A thousand pieces of rubble, everything that holds together.
Bit by piece falls away.
For something has to crack, new has to come in,
We can't always stand still.
Everyone looks through sooty glass,
But we want to take it back.
The satellites - We steal.
Here batons and lamentations echo everywhere,
Everything is off, everything is set In pledge.
A red light that shines brightly,
On tired eyes In a demolition kitchen.
The satellites - We steal.
They spin around and look down,
Down is up and up is down.
A thousand megawatts through a microphone,
As payments for all the cold years.< br/>Three long, three short, three chords,
A million voices forming a wave.
Everyone dances to the rhythm of a machine,
Everyone dances but no one wants.
The satellites - We steal.
We have barbed wire around our hearts and we lose blood.
Suffocated to silence robbed of words.

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