Lyrics

I Will Ignore The Apocalypse
I will ignore the apocalypse you play out in my mind. I will discount the cut-price doomsday you prep, you enable in my soul. Emblem a grasping hand, icon a barren land but heart trumps hate. Your face itself is cause enough. Pig-pin-prick eyes, cheap chancer lies in fear’s dirty void. A cugana in our stable. Comical, self-serving, loathsome. Hate’s toxic spore. Being human binds us, being smart will guide us. A better nature will endure. Being decent ties us, speaking out will find us. A better nature will endure.
 
Coldbloods
Who let the hawks hang the higher ground? Who led the crows to circle round? Starting to feel a little nervous now. Don’t let them near the switch, hey! Who let the vipers take a hold? A slither of lies that became a road. Can’t just be me that’s starting to feel a little nervous now. Who let the primal shape control? Who let instinct steer the wheel? Can’t just be me that’s starting to feel a little nervous now. Don’t let the coldbloods take the stage. Who let the reptiles free their cage? Who let them loose on the modern age? Can’t just be me that’s starting to feel a little nervous now.
 
Is It Dark Enough?
Little bit of grit, bit of heart. Little bit of grit, bit of dirt. Little bit of grit, bit of spine. Little bit of grit, bit of soil. I’m not one to preach. But the world is messed up, the land is sick. Is it dark enough to see the stars yet? I would not be king. Step forward those with a little bit of grit, bit of spine, who will not bow down. Who won’t tarnish with the touch of power. Who will not bow down. I’m not one to preach, but a hundred men with half the world’s wealth is a sickness. Is it dark enough to see the stars yet?
 
Sleep Our Dream
Rest your head, my pretty one. Sleep the dream, the day is done. Dream on. In twitterbot meme, user-defined for knee-jerk spurt, cheap-shot one-liners. Look at the pretty rainbow. Hear nothing. Not machines of hate, not the clank of cogs of war, the earth rent in half. It is the sound of snowflakes. Rest your head, my pretty one. Sleep the dream of perpetual sleep. Don’t stir. Just money and power in feral scrum, whipping up a fresh new scum. Its simply time to turn over. Sleep tight. Dream for you alone, come on, play along, sleep the dream, bang our drum. We’ll wake you when its time. Wake up! Why don’t you wake up?
 
The Overlords Are Back
Oh crumbs, oh snap. Under dirty water, on our back. The Overlords are back. Oh crumbs, oh larks. The world is run by thugs, who’s the mug? The Overlords are back. Oh crumbs, oh dear. Planet Earth is due a reset here. The Overlords are back. Oh crumbs, oh flip. Can you hear the Doomsday clock tick? The Overlords are back.
 
Here Is The News
Here is the news from the BBC. Here is the news from me. Warning! Some viewers may find the next scene disturbing: In world news two disturbingly stereotypical psychopaths are working tirelessly to bring back The Cold War, bring back the 80’s. People are said to be hunkering down taking dislike to people based on arbitrary lines drawn on maps. To bring back those old wars, roll back the good times. Here is the news from the BBC. Here is the news from me. Experts predict the ‘power grab and blame’ trick will work a treat, we’re all fucked, we’re all doomed, we should eat each other. Bring back the Great War, it sure was a great war.
 
Crumbs
Let the Prep boys play, lucky-dip a side – leave me out, just give me crumbs from the rich man’s table. Fat market sway, stocks swell, lives will fail – give me crumbs from the rich man’s table. What’d you want? Power eats alone, locks itself away, has to control, to make you content with crumbs from the rich man’s table. Power feeds its own, rules its own okay. Sits at the feast, while the rest work and wait for crumbs from the rich man’s table. You want crumbs? You want crumbs from the rich man’s table?
 
Sell Your Future
Roll up, roll up. Roll up, roll up. Sell your future! Roll up, roll up, for shady deals. Blood money, stocks, and arms a steal. Feeding frenzy, take the lead. Grasping chancers first to sell your future. Antiques Roadshow, Twenty-Four. Leave guns and morals by the door. Here’s a heart, a spleen, a Brexit-ear in which to scream ‘sell your future’. Roll up, roll up, for cut-price stock. Govern-less, and out to hock. Haven for the rouble schemer, the tiny-island dreamer. Sell your future.
 
You Want Some?
Want some? You want some? Everything must go! Despite a Boaty Mc vote race, the overlords still sit in place. The Great British cake-off , the ‘fuck your own face off’. Everything must go. The new rules are a cinch, ignore the small print, do not flinch. They really just want zero contact, here’s a brand new zero contract. Everything must go. Welcome to the Great British bring and buy sale! I hear Europe wants to ban trumpets, Matt. I hear they’re straightening the good old British banana. You can’t even keep a lion these days. Political correctness gone mad, I call it. Ah, zee famous English sense of humour. Under EU directive 777, there shall no more trumpets on British records. Crumbs from a rich man’s table, a little bit of Britain, while you’re able. Not much left, its dirt and fluff, come on down, get the good stuff. Everything must go.
 
Liberal Snowflake
Thought I’d just lay down some basic ground rules, being that all I’ve done is moan so far…Treat all people fairly. Men and women respected the same. Be kind, decent. No poor. None with less than enough. No shareholder, but all. Let there be rich, that do not flourish on the backs of others, nor nature, nor resource. None with more than one hundred times another. Beyond that, fund a sustainable world; water, food and power for all. Nature respected. The Earth, our home. Breed less, consume less, work less, play more. No war. A million tribes and no tribe, but all. No religion but our better nature. Defunct practice dropped, the true root embraced: Good thoughts, words, actions. Laws that enshrine these, minds that do not seek to circumvent these. Break the destructive pattern of humanity’s history. Harness our collective drive and will, our life force, our creativity. Sustain and build a world that truly works. Develop ourselves. Explore the stars. As one tribe, our limits are endless.
 
Forge A Better World
Enemies of light, your night has passed. Deniers of better days, we will make them anyway. Forge a better world. Great men of war, we will dismantle you. Men of great wealth, recognise your poverty. Forge a better world. Feed the earth, hand-shape a better world. Share, share in, harness what’s good for all. Thought. Will. Means. Make. Forge a better world.
 
We Will Be Alright
So they convinced all us turkeys to go for our own Christmas surprise. The keen-eyed chef, the kitchen smelling nice. Everything is fine. Harness a slogan to promise the earth, tub-thump and grain-shake lies. A hearty laugh is a sharpened knife. Feast the corrupt, feed the money-whores. Kick out your friends, go tear off reason’s door. Let loose the zombie Brexit hordes. Despite it all we will be alright. New opportunity in death and fire. Rules are for losers, we can sell the sky. Out-source decency, foresight, and doubt. We will ride the storm out. We will be alright.