Peter

Peter was a rebel who stood at Hyde Park Corner
Waving fists at crowds of pigeons strutting by
And policemen standing by with arms folded behind their brains
Staring up at brick glass buildings
Whose computer zombies stared back through their windows
With deep sockets that once were seeing eyes

Peter was a rebel who realized
That the population were really not interested
And now works in a computer mock mansion, spewing ticker shit
For twelve hang-up, drop-dead pounds a week
And watches the clock ticking through morning, noon and night
To eternal sleep, sleep, sleep