1. |
Eton Mess
03:39
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Lock down
The leafy streets of Hampstead are not safe for you now
Look sharp
Churchill’s beloved beaches are swarming in the dark
I’ll scratch yours if you’ll be my
back-door, sugar-daddy, red-top ride
Late lunches on the company ex
Fat chin dripping with Eton Mess
Cut deep
The idle poor are dossing down on Easy Street
Good Lord
Take these poor sinners as we throw them overboard
Make the call and I’ll scratch your itch
Be your white-tie, finger-puppet, Bullingdon bitch
Late lunches on the company ex
Fat face dripping with Eton Mess
So misunderstood
Such woes we bear
To keep things nice and fair
Money to the moneyed
And scraps to the lame
The weak to the wall
It’s the Eton way
I’ll scratch yours if you’ll be my
back-door, sugar-daddy, red-top ride
Late lunches on the company ex
Fat chin dripping with Eton Mess
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2. |
Soon Enough
03:58
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Her skin is grey
But we pretend not to see
Laying ten upon knave
We pass the day
And she’s not quite well
And the sun might help
But not soon enough
This damn machine
And its dusty wheeze
How many mundane farewells
Has its dry heart seen?
And she’s not herself
And the pills might help
But not soon enough
These rented walls
Scraps of a home
But a home’s just an asset unrealised
When the piper calls
And I’m not quite well
And the pills don’t help
And I won’t be well
No, not soon enough
You pay, you pay, you pay
You pay every grating breath
They take, they take, they take
They take every memory left
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3. |
Grit and Blood
04:27
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At last the sun
Long night is gone
We’ll take the step
Cold tears and laughs
The ghosts of past
We’ll lay to rest
Rest your weary mind
Don’t waste your precious time
Rest your weary mind
The day has come of grit and blood
Will libate the ground like wine
History’s eyes, the pavement scribes
Will drown out the printed lie
From roof-top lairs
Sharp pixel stairs
Rake every face
On gun and stick
Thick fingers itch
To crush and break
Rest your weary mind
It’s safe and warm inside
Rest your weary mind
The day has come of grit and blood
Will libate the ground like wine
History’s eyes, the pavement scribes
Will drown out the printed lie
Lies, damn lies and world exclusives
The truth is what the boss-man chooses
We wolf down the gristle and juices
And make our bed
Rocked like babes within the cradle
Strings are plucked and we are played ‘til
In his image we are made
Ambitions dead
The day has come of grit and blood
Will libate the ground like wine
History’s eyes, the pavement scribes
Will drown out the printed lie
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4. |
The Rats' Tale
06:58
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And then it began
To get out of hand
They started to march, the dispossessed, hungry and lost
Our heroes bided their time
In oak-panelled rooms with oak-aged wine
And blew up Westminster Bridge just as they crossed
The march is tossed head over heels
Into the water jagged with steel
Tumbled the banners, the trumpets and all of their ire
The venerable barons and dukes
Laughed their faces full puce
While outside the gargoyles spat merciless white nails and fire
The rats are laughing
The rats are laughing
Foundations creaked and groaned
Embankment was cleft like butter not stone
And the noble seat of our heritage sailed away
Helicopters buzzed like flies
Disgorged from fetid glass spires
Bringing pinstriped jesters and squires
To join in the game
The rats are swarming
The rats are swarming
Soon dinner plans are begun -
Will it be the swan or lark’s tongue?
The White Feathers favour swan the best
And discontent is so wn‘twixt them and The Speckled Chests
Benches are splintered, maces are hurled
Lo! See the bloody nose of the Earl
Come! See the carnage in this hallowed trench
Weeping, broken, mewling leaders of men
Those perched on Primrose Hill’s tip
Felt the great thunderclap rip
From the top of the spire to cellars now gushing with wine
Into the raw sucking foam
Sank a thousand black souls to fiery home
And we breathe free one last time
The rats are drowning
The rats are drowning
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