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Glass bubble-wrapped, we sit engrossed in front of screens
Windows showing us the world, connecting us - or so it seems
The windows are misnamed, the images reflected
Defined by all we've thought or said; accepted or rejected

Outside our cosy spheres the true panopticon is working
The real observers study us, intent on our key-stroking
The algorithms digitise, addressing all the numbers
'Cos stimulated people click while sated people slumber

So how do we reflect when Cassandras tell of their despair
Confined within our cells the truth is spun and filtered everywhere
While some react with certainty, most just don't know what to think
Should we heed or just ignore all those who say we're at the brink

Maybe it's best that we... or maybe it's best. Is it just best that we? I think that it's best, or maybe it's best to be

Wearing the new black
Driving into work
Decorating rooms
Buying new perfume
A puppy for the kids
Vacation in the sun
Trying new caf├ęs
Slouching round TVs
Enjoying all the adverts
Having one more drink
Cutting out the carbs
Writing one more song
Feuding with the neighbours
Talking on the phone
Avoiding politics
Keeping our heads down
Taking out insurance
Saving for old age
Sailing empty seas
Sewing dustbowl seeds

Fiddling while Rome burns.