Dance, suit-man, dance

Dance in Japan, America and France

Throughout the world it's all the same

Acting out your roles for their hall of fame


Dance, suit-man dance

How they pull the strings to make you prance!

Corporate puppets on corporate strings

They write the words to make the puppets sing


Jig, suit-man, jig

But however hard you dance you'll not be Mr Big

Mr Big controls each frantic jerk

Of strings that keep on pulling you to work


Break, suit-man break

When there's no dance to dance and no more left to take

Upon the corporate scrapheap, broken limbs

Free at last from the controllers' little whims



And shadow puppets held with rods behind the scenes

With foolish shadows caring not and what each movement means

Transient images dependant on the light

That give them substance to show up in the night

And only those who hold the strings, control

Your body and your brain; your life; your soul