The Diagnosis

Ah, my breed of men

roaring, seething

 for Obsession and Constraint

compelled by the act to dominate

and do you dare reject that

pressure produces counter-pressure,*

you never gave a shit

for the former or the latter

bellowing, tension feels good

only when it surges.

Ah, my breed of men

suits and ties

the professional kind

the mind of a machine

paralyzed and brainless

kick off your shoes to sigh

careful, cause reflecting

is Subjective's misfortune

and you are in the place

to be objectified. 

Ah, my breed of men

swing, swing, swing

strike Speculation

to murder Common Sense  

and when you pull out the organs

the defect will be undressed

devour thought

devour strength

be the machine

my breed of men

and all will suffer

the masochistic disease. 

* excerpts from Adorno's Diagnosis