Joe Strummer dressed as Jesus Christ
Despises the eyes plugged into their own guts
Zombies and mummies malnourished and mistreated
Here, the season to be jolly is a season to swiftly fuck off, more post-apocalyptic than a half-board chalet in Pontins
All Cloudless and Clement, lamenting the aftermath, makes me sad.
Headphones wrapped around the necks of them
Rabbits run but trip in the needle pit………..descend into the depths of the urbane abyss
Socialised wheels weak under the weight of this heavy machine
Hands hung from ceilings, grab everything whilst you can
ITVirus- Televised celebrity crucifixion sequence: don’t laugh they're only dancing.
His Master’s Voice is a voice no stronger than the faintest whisper, fizzled hum in the screamin' wind
Of what a particular politician said last year...something about spare change....
And if I could, I’d give the world my heart
But something so black can’t be of much use.
Not a hole deep enough to dig me, where the future won’t sniff me out like robot dogs against the fox.
Come together and maybe communicate, just a thought.
Don’t be fooled by those headlights, they're only chasing the chain of command
Around the world in 28 days, wastoid youth, bloated bureaucracies (28 days too many)
The bedrock of bedlam is one that erupts upon each shuffled footstep
Herbert Ryman ideals, waste of space, waste of time, and the vision secretes WW3akness.
In the wake of a new day, rise up, a commune of autonomous bohemia.
Bedizened Godhead, worshipped but unseen
The flat-pint piss-poor armada are
Moving into the part of town you thought the council of corrupted clowns had torn down
Cry out for quarantine!!!! Morphine!!! Oxy-poppy!! Techno-slug! 4321
The face of a million raves returns a martyr for the modern menace, mankind bathed before the bleaching
See them smile so much it hurts, a suburbanisation of zion, calaboose youth caged in the ion zoon (Terms and Conditions of Blinking)
More love in a telephone box with broken glass walls and faded graffiti memorandum
The so called ‘Experimental Prototype Community of Tomorrow’..........load of bollocks.
So kindly keep your nose out, Ordinary people blaming Other people on the problems beyond their control
Look up to the sky and do so closely enough, can see the next planet we’re about to invade
Thrown into the bullring, against the landlord you
Swore down to settle your debt with or
He’ll have the neighbourhood gassed before dawn
Garrotted and guillotined, a commonwealth of hellions.
Oh well
P.S: the gun's not loaded and the TV's broken, riot on our hands, Death on Mars.
x
Despises the eyes plugged into their own guts
Zombies and mummies malnourished and mistreated
Here, the season to be jolly is a season to swiftly fuck off, more post-apocalyptic than a half-board chalet in Pontins
All Cloudless and Clement, lamenting the aftermath, makes me sad.
Headphones wrapped around the necks of them
Rabbits run but trip in the needle pit………..descend into the depths of the urbane abyss
Socialised wheels weak under the weight of this heavy machine
Hands hung from ceilings, grab everything whilst you can
ITVirus- Televised celebrity crucifixion sequence: don’t laugh they're only dancing.
His Master’s Voice is a voice no stronger than the faintest whisper, fizzled hum in the screamin' wind
Of what a particular politician said last year...something about spare change....
And if I could, I’d give the world my heart
But something so black can’t be of much use.
Not a hole deep enough to dig me, where the future won’t sniff me out like robot dogs against the fox.
Come together and maybe communicate, just a thought.
Don’t be fooled by those headlights, they're only chasing the chain of command
Around the world in 28 days, wastoid youth, bloated bureaucracies (28 days too many)
The bedrock of bedlam is one that erupts upon each shuffled footstep
Herbert Ryman ideals, waste of space, waste of time, and the vision secretes WW3akness.
In the wake of a new day, rise up, a commune of autonomous bohemia.
Bedizened Godhead, worshipped but unseen
The flat-pint piss-poor armada are
Moving into the part of town you thought the council of corrupted clowns had torn down
Cry out for quarantine!!!! Morphine!!! Oxy-poppy!! Techno-slug! 4321
The face of a million raves returns a martyr for the modern menace, mankind bathed before the bleaching
See them smile so much it hurts, a suburbanisation of zion, calaboose youth caged in the ion zoon (Terms and Conditions of Blinking)
More love in a telephone box with broken glass walls and faded graffiti memorandum
The so called ‘Experimental Prototype Community of Tomorrow’..........load of bollocks.
So kindly keep your nose out, Ordinary people blaming Other people on the problems beyond their control
Look up to the sky and do so closely enough, can see the next planet we’re about to invade
Thrown into the bullring, against the landlord you
Swore down to settle your debt with or
He’ll have the neighbourhood gassed before dawn
Garrotted and guillotined, a commonwealth of hellions.
Oh well
P.S: the gun's not loaded and the TV's broken, riot on our hands, Death on Mars.
x
Comment