The Final Election In A Crumbling Empire

As we sit on top of the world, with our gutters cluttered with waxen cups crushed under our tires, and all we see every day are the familiar sights of our daily existence, we know nothing
As the dust continues to collect in every corner of every polling place, and every television screen has a familiar smiling face, and our time's wasted as they shovel the shit so high we can taste it, we know nothing
As every doorman chеcks our IDs, and every scrap of metal gеts detected, and we hold our twenties up to the light, and plant forests in the median strips to make things right, we know nothing
But the whole world is watching
The whole world is watching and the whole world is sick, and they'd really rather see a puppet head on a stick
And all the soulless self-important liars holding the reins make the good ones fighting for something real in terms of change seem so strangely out of place, their goals so out of range...
And we feel ourselves choke as the mud flies, and the tradition of lies undermines and belies what we're taught all our lives:
"Vote or don't complain."
That short-sighted, simplified argument proves that we know nothing
And the whole world is watching