Paroles: Incubus. Talk Shows On Mute.

Take a bow, pack on powder,
Wash 'em out with buzzing lights,
Pay an audience to care,
'Impress me' personality.

Still and transfixed,
The electric sheep are dreaming of your face.
Enjoy you from the chemical,
Comfort of America.

Come one, come all
Into nineteen-eighty-four
Yeah, three, two, one
Lights, Camera, Transaction

Quick, your time is almost up.
Make all forget that they're the moth,
Edging in towards the flame,
Burn into obscurity.

Still and transfixed,
The electric sheep are dreaming up your fate.
And judge you from the card castle,
Comfort of America.

Come one, come all
Into nineteen-eighty-four
Yeah, three, two, one
Lights, Camera... yeah.

Come one, come all
Into nineteen-eighty-four
Yeah, three, two one
Lights, Camera, Transaction

Lights, Camera, Transaction

Come one, come all
Into nineteen-eighty-four
Yeah, three, two, one
Lights, Camera, Transaction

Your foundation is canyoning,
Fault lines should be worn with pride.
I hate to say so much more.
You're so much more
Endearing with the sound turned off.


(Grazie a Dani,Lilo per questo testo)