In rags in their normal place

Where diesel machines roar by

Pale dawn, at the scrapyard gates

Fast food parks and hardware mines

Not smiling or frowning they,

The shades on the fringe of town,

Unpaid, idle, lending shape

To the gravity which they say

Has dragged this country down

This beautiful country down

Close off the backstreets, no-one goes

Bring on the ice, the game-shows: brain-blister



The bigger the roadside crowd

The denser the gameshow cloud

There's nothing on that churning screen

Just nonsense that might mean:

"like it? good. no? tough!

Pen them in and shut them up

Slow march, eyes right

Save all your revolution for your saturday night!"



[(your curse)?]



You earn but you feel oppressed

The armour could do with a test

Why not betray your lover's trust?

Go ahead and push it until it bursts

You're back on the streets again

No armour, no dreams, no friends

The worst pain is behind the eyes

Where the killer of futures hides, still hides



They've closed the backstreets, you can't hide

If you feel brave, just step outside

Where all tomorrows stink the same

Where night vibrates with cries of:

Brain-blister



Well, we laughed till dawn about the coming hell

[...?]

We learned to live without rest or hope

But [you'll?] never admit we live a joke

The patient is fading fast

Oh, but ignore it, it's just an act


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