| Indigenous apocalypse, decimated forest, the Winter of our discontent’s upon us |
| Desolate apostles, left with Strongbow at the crossroads |
| We are nothing but an eating mouth, oesophagus, colossal |
| We won’t stop until we’ve beaten down the planet into pellets |
| Before the interstellar mission to inflict more terror |
| It’s killing me, it’s killing me, it’s filling me, I’m vomiting, |
| it’s still in me |
| Everything is fine really, silly me |
| Poor kids shot dead, poor kids locked up |
| Poor kids saying, «This is the future that you left us?» |
| Stopped up lunch meat, processed, punch from an unclean fatcat |
| Tasty, tasty poison |
| Carcinogenic, diabetic, asthmatic, epileptic, post-traumatic, bipolar and |
| disaffected |
| Atomised, thinking we’re engaged when we’re pacified |
| Staring at the screen so we don’t have to see the planet die |
| What we gonna do to wake up? |
| We sleep so deep, it don’t matter how they shake us |
| If we can’t face it, we can’t escape it |
| But tonight the storm’s come |
| She’s screaming, she’s screaming |
| The drones turned her beautiful boy into a pile of bones |
| No body to bury, nobody is home |
| Running from war, the boat’s full, the boat’s sinking a mile off shore |
| No beds in the hospitals, our minds are against us |
| Imagine your daughter was gunned down defenceless on her way to school |
| There’d be uproar |
| But she’s collateral damage, it doesn’t matter |
| Now if our kids are fine, that’s enough for us |
| You can’t love into a vacuum, there’s got to be a limit |
| Welcome to the biggest crime that’s ever been committed |
| You think you and I are different kinds, you’re caught up in specifics |
| You and I apart are easier to limit |
| The illusion’s so complete it’s impossible to bring it into focus |
| Cinematic stock footage, you think people are locusts |
| Uniform men keep unleashing explosives |
| What we gonna do to wake up? |
| We sleep so deep, it don’t matter how they shake us |
| If we can’t face it, we can’t escape it |
| But tonight the storm’s come |
| Tunnel vision, tunnel vision |
| Work, drinks, heartbreak |
| You can’t face the past, the past’s a dark place |
| Can’t sleep, can’t wake, sitting in our boxes |
| Notching up our victories as other people’s losses |
| Another day, another chance to turn your face away from pain |
| Let’s get a takeaway |
| And meet me in the pub a little later, we’ll say the same things as ever |
| Life’s a waiting game |
| When we gonna see that life is happening? |
| And that every single body bleeding on its knees is an abomination |
| And every natural being is making communication |
| And we’re just sparks, tiny parts of a bigger constellation |
| We’re miniscule molecules that make up one body |
| You see the tragedy and pain of a person that you’ve never met |
| Is present in your nightmares, in your pull towards despair |
| And the sickness of the culture, and the sickness in our hearts |
| Is a sickness that’s inflicted by this distance that we share |
| Now, it was our bombs that started this war |
| And now it rages far away |
| So we dismiss all its victims as strangers |
| But they’re parents and children made dogs by the danger |
| Existence is futile, so we don’t engage |
| But it was our boats that sailed, killed, stole, and made frail |
| It was our boots that stamped |
| It was our courts that jailed |
| And it was our fuckin' banks that got bailed |
| It was us who turned bleakly away |
| Looked back down at our nails and our wedding plans |
| In the face of a full-force gale, we said |
| «Well, it’s not up to us to make this place a better land |
| It’s not up to us to make this place a better land.» |
| Justice, justice, recompense, humility |
| Trust is, trust is something we will never see |
| Till love is unconditional |
| The myth of the individual has left us disconnected, lost, and pitiful |
| I’m out in the rain |
| It’s a cold night in London |
| And I’m screaming at my loved ones to wake up and love more |
| I’m pleading with my loved ones to wake up and love more |