I've razors in my mind, fire in my veins, wire in my soul. Living on the edge, between neon's glare and desolation's black. Jacked in, jacked up take the plunge, make the run, beyond the edge. Searchlights sweep the rainy streets, above the crowds the call to prayer, to worship at the corporate altar of the consumable, the expandable, the cheap. Sirens scream, muzzle flash reflected in mirrored eye, the metal and the flesh they sing. Flatline. The beat ends. No time for remorse. Another day. Another job. From coffin to coffin, fuelled by the synth. Carry what you own, own what you can keep. All around the throng of crowd, the pulse of the city, riding the disconnect between reality and reality. All of them Alone.