I heard the man on t.v.
selling music for the brand new age
And thought about conformists
who had built their fortunes out of rage
Their tongues of revolution stilled
by treadmill time society
And fashion's creeping clutching hand
threw shut the door and turned the key
You ain't saying anything new babe,
somewhere you've said this before
You've got nothing to prove to me baby,
just look around you some more...
I've heard the Disco Syndrums metamorphose
into cracking whips
The dances change, the fashions change,
exclusion stays, you're still too hip
A bunch of frightened people
throwing water on a primal fire
Stifling by clinging
in a crowd you mask your real desires
You ain't saying anything new babe,
somewhere you've said this before.
You've got nothing to prove to me baby,
I see exclusion galore.
And it's nothing new.
G.S., '82