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

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!