Morning is Broken

Morning is broken oh what a morning
Blackbird has spoken for the last time
Praise for the factories, praise for production
Praise for the capitalists mining our minds

Sweet acid rain falls, high from the heavens
Sold as sacred, blessed by our Lord
Falls on our children, praise for our bosses
Lining their towers, with ivory walls

Mine was the sun light, now I have phonecalls
Sold as the fine life, subsistence sublime
Think every morning, where you are going
Think every morning, you could be more.