We no longer live in a world of nations and ideologies, Mr. Beale.
The world is a college of corporations,
Inexorably determined by the immutable bylaws of business.
The world is a business, Mr. Beale.
It has been since man crawled out of the slime.
And our children will live,
To see that perfect world in which
There's no war or famine, oppression or brutality
One vast and ecumenical holding company,
For whom all men will work to serve a common profit,
All necessities provided,
All anxieties tranquilized, all boredom amused.
And I have chosen you to preach this evangel.
Beale: But why me?
-Because you're on television, dummy.
We live in the times of comfort
We live in the eternal lie
Willing to fill our emptiness
But we hardly know why
This is a golden prison
For egos and vanity
Our Fortress of Solitude, a place where
We can have
The rights we ask for:
The right to ignore
All the things we'd like to think
The right to believe we're right
But it's good to know you're someone
In the Circus of the Good Will
If you're not to free yourself
At least no-one could say you didn't try
You tried
We're just trying to feel alive
We sell our souls just to get a like
We keep wondering about the fate
While we're just making plans for the weekend
In the end is not so hard to understand
Doesn't mind if you think and pretend
That we don't decide
That's the way we thrive
Yeah, we all decide
Everyday, decide!
The right to ignore
All the things we'd like to think
The right to believe we're right.
