Postindustrial boys have a wonderful voice, they read some James Joyce and make a careful choice. Postindustrial boys subscribe to Village Voice. They play with colored toys, and make an awful noise. I shall hit on you again before Two Thousand Ten. But tell me, tell me when will I have some time by then? I should love you once again, once again to be your man. Once again I’d love you tanned, and will worship you in sand. And I don’t want to be there, where the rules are not fair, and the Dow Jones average tells hypocrisy of postindustrial mediocrity. I should love you again before Two Thousand Ten. I should be yours once again. I wish I’ll be alive by then. My dear, I love you more than ever. This passion lasts through death forever. They tell me: be just cool and clever, But, that could never happen, never. Postindustrial boys subscribe to Village Voice. They buy some colored toys and make a careful choice. In the desert of Arizona, you don’t want to be a loner. I would love you till my death, till my last and painful breath.