I’ve got friends that you don’t know
And we’ve got madness of our own
I think we’re on to something here
There’s one you would not understand
Cause he’s such an esoteric man
Somehow his motives aren’t yet clear

So look out (look out)
Look out (look out)
Look out (look out) here come the freak show now!

This trite fashion overgrown
This culture you bought as your own
Well don’t you wonder where it came from?
That fleeting image stretched so far
Made you both prisoner and guard
You’ll never free yourself from this one

So look out (look out)
Look out (look out)
Look out (look out) here come the freak show now!

[A brief monologue by Mr. Horatio "Buzzkill" Johnson]:
Quite contrary to the quasi-optimistic mantra of the liberal democratic establishment, casual resistance is a vapid gesture; merely a dead metaphorical allegoric manifestation of the snake eating its own tail. See, all of the good loopholes and conveniently accessible exits have long since been redirected; gormandized, perverted, and paved smooth by a self-embellishing xenophobic totalitarian cultural monolith reflexively seeking to neutralize any outstanding challenges to its own venerated mediocrity. To make matters worse, you’re implicated by association from the very beginning and therefore equally culpable as the greedy cigar-chewing thugs who toil tirelessly behind all manner of curtains to perpetually dull the already blunt business end of this diversionary macabre reality show. Think about it: your slightest actions yield chaotic consequences beyond your wildest comprehension; while simultaneously the entire ambit of your so-called “human experience’ is both directed and facilitated by shadow forces so elemental to the whole charade that you probably wouldn’t notice them even if I did take the time to show you.
…and as for the alternatives?...[chuckle]…you’re nowhere near ready for that shit…

So look out (look out)
Look out (look out)
Look out (look out) here come the freak show now!