Skip to Content

Fiscal Year Zero (Charge Of The Lite Brigade)


One day soon every home on Earth
Will be linked by a complex system of tunnels
You can order anything you could ever desire online
Your groceries will be propelled
Into your refrigerator by themselves
And anyone anywhere can reach you at any time
After all, it’s so inconvenient to go outside
So just keep eating and don’t try to analyze
And if you’re a busy female executive
Whose husband refuses to do the shopping
We’ve got high tech solutions
To preserve your traditional way of life
Why ask why?

Just another poor schlub trying to scratch out a living
In a flag-infested wasteland
Aw yeah, unity is the word du jour
As working people still get shafted
You’ll be waving your maxed out Visa card
When they throw your ass in the snow
Stop grumbling and buy another lottery ticket
After all, you never know
Watch TV documentaries about the rich
And pretend their concerns are yours
Spend your lunch hour discussing the details
Of Christina Onassis’s pain
Life is a commodity
And sex is something you buy and sell
Some afternoons I feel like my skull
Is slowly caving in
Just from listening to you.

But wait…there’s more!

The invisible hand has just dropped the ball
And the players scatter like roaches
Still, the crowd persists in believing in the game
Keep your head down and wait for the next big scam
It’s bound to be coming soon
If we all agree this scenario is real
We’ll see Tinkerbell alive again
The vigilantes saddle up their mules
Every man to his own agenda
We didn’t start the fire, we only provide the gasoline
Loathsome cowboy in a china shop
Loves the sound of breaking glass
When every man is king
Someone still has to play the role of the servant class.

I woke up one morning to find myself
In a bad summer action movie
The special effects are awesome
But the hero is not exactly convincing
We’ve burned all our history books to keep warm
Now the news looks like science fiction
And the acts human beings are capable of
Are forever beyond description
“You’re either on the bus or you’re off of the bus!”
The driver’s voice crackles through the speakers
As the highway to Hell unfolds like a yellow brick road
We’re checking the map as we quell our reservations
With biker crank and Prozac
99 bottles of something unspeakable on the wall
Take one down…pass it around.

© 2002 J Neo Marvin (BMI)