(Verse 1)

The social directors are drawing the line

At the back of the bureau at ten to the nine

Miss Cynthia clicks with a cynical claw

At a carbon copy contract that’s legally raw

She’s got a picture of Paris, a packet of mints

And a magazine spread of some plasticized prince

She says she understands the pressure, she says she feels the strain

But she’s viewing the violence through cellophane

(Chorus)

Oh, you claim that you care for the crowd in the queuе!

But I doubt you do!

Yeah, I doubt you do!

You can punch in the numbers and push it all through

But I doubt you do!

No, I doubt you do!

Nеxt please!

(Verse 2)

Young Arthur’s an architect working for tips

With a cynical twitch in his cynical lips

He’s designing a dungeon of high-rise decay

For the corporate casualties locked in the day

He’s got a six-inch transistor, a pocket-sized plan

To escape from the queue in a commercial van

But the gears are all grinding, the machinery’s tight

And the factory shadows are stealing the light!

(Pre-Chorus)

And he’s shouting out! (Shouting out!)

What’s the worry about? (What’s about!)

It’s a highly domestic, professional drought!

With a check to the chin and a slip of the tongue

It’s a beautiful burden for someone so young!

(Chorus)

Oh, you claim that you care for the crowd in the queue!

But I doubt you do!

Yeah, I doubt you do!

You can punch in the numbers and push it all through

But I doubt you do!

No, I doubt you do!

(Guitar Solo)

(Bridge)

Yeah

But I doubt you do!

Yeah, I doubt you do!

Do what you do

Do do do

(Outro)

Miss Cynthia’s counting

Young Arthur is drawing

The system is sliding

The audience is boring

You say you're a modern humanitarian?

A contemporary utilitarian?

Well I doubt that you do!