The Great Illusion. Poem by Ripper Jones

We're on a roundabout,
And we can't get off.
We'll all be flown about,
Till we've had enough.

On this old world of ours,
We're kept in check.
By some invisible power,
We're at its call and beck.

So what can we do about,
This invidious tie.
That gives so little to doubt
That we live a lie.

What's that big wave I see,
And it's coming our way.
To topple our privacy,
And restrict our say.

Let's run to our homes and play,
Generated mind games.
Thinking throughout the day,
What could be their aims.

They sit in their ivory towers,
Making plans for us.
Making sure that the message is,
In them we trust.