War From A Harlots Mouth Transmetropolitan
The mechanical heart, it beats
Underneath this rainy sky
The machines produce more and
More
People without dreams, losers
Every day we encounter
Their letargic faces
The compulsion of their
Responsibilities
And the loss of their wishes
We flee, without chance
Eventually it will catch us
And we have to admit to ourselves
That there is no way out
Back to the grey of the streets
We fight ourselves through the
Masses
This city shall die with us
For a better life, a better
Tomorrow
