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 gla** buildings
Whose computer zombies stared back
Through their windows with deep sockets
That once were seeing eyes
Peter was a rebel
Who realised that the population
Was really not interested
And now works in a computer mock mansion
Spewing tick-a-sh**
For 12 hang-up-drop-dead-pounds a week
And watched the clock ticking
Through morning noon and night
To eternal sleep