| He’d started talking to himself | 
| His ma was dead | 
| The first sign of madness, talking to yourself | 
| Alarm bells should have | 
| Been going off in his head | 
| As clear as crystal he ignored the S.O.S | 
| Gave a little whistle, made his last request | 
| He tuned into his local commercial radio station | 
| And listened to the spokesman for his generation | 
| Who said, «Put your hands in the air like you just don’t care» | 
| Put your hands in the air like you just don’t care | 
| About anything or anybody | 
| About love, hate, cruelty or pain | 
| About football or music, the sun, the wind and the rain | 
| It’s the after taste of paradise | 
| It doesn’t pay to advertise | 
| Part one in a two part pack of lies | 
| A titillating, trivialized | 
| Television fairy tale | 
| By clever men with pony tails | 
| All the trimmings and nothing else | 
| Tom Cruise instead of Orson Welles | 
| We owe you nothing say The Bells | 
| Of Hollywood and Tunbridge Wells | 
| Never mind the quality feel yourself | 
| Slipping into mental health | 
| I thank the Lord that I was blessed | 
| With more than my share of bitterness | 
| Because everything is fixed | 
| It’s all done with mirrors and camera tricks | 
| Miles and miles of cheesy smiles | 
| In churches and cathedrals | 
| Won’t feed the cold and needy child | 
| And put an end to evil | 
| It’s elementary my dear Watson | 
| From the pistol and the smoke | 
| The Jetsam and The Flotsam | 
| Are the victims of a cruel and stupid joke | 
| He turned off his radio | 
| Looked at his newspaper | 
| And he thought about truth | 
| And he thought about lies and he thought about | 
| Overcoats and paper planes | 
| Homes for votes and shit for brains | 
| Fascist bully boys and girls | 
| From the ashes of a poison world | 
| All the news that’s fit to print | 
| In poison pen and tabloid ink | 
| Tits and arse, bring back the birch | 
| Then take the children off to church | 
| Miles and miles of cheesy smiles | 
| In churches and cathedrals | 
| Won’t feed the cold and needy child | 
| And put an end to evil | 
| It’s elementary my dear Watson | 
| From the pistol and the smoke | 
| The Jetsam and The Flotsam | 
| Are the victims of a cruel and stupid joke | 
| He’d started talking to himself | 
| His ma was dead |