Look, top of the world.
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
SOS, gave a little whistle and
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 aftertaste of paradise
It doesn't pay to advertise
Pop wine and a two -part
pack of lies
Scintillating, trivialized
Television fairytale
Like
Neverland with pumpkin tails
All the trimmings and nothing else
Top boots instead of arse and wells
We owe you nothing, state of ours
Probably worth a ton for twelve
Never mind the quality, fail yourself
Slipping into mental health
I thank the
Lord that I was blessed
With more than my share of bitchiness
Cos everything is specious
I'm done with mirrors and camera tricks
Miles and miles of cheesy smiles
In churches and cathedrals
One beat the code and
he'd eat a child and put
An end to evil, it's elementary
My dear
Watson, from the pistol and the smoke
The
Jetson and the
Watson
I'm a victim, I'm a fool, stupid joke
He turns off his radio,
looks at his newspaper
He's thought about truth,
he's thought about lies
And he's thought about...
All accounts and paper plates
Homes and boats and shipwrecks
Fascist bully boys and girls from
the ashes of a poisoned world
Oh, then use that spittagress if it
flies and penance are guiding
Tits and arse blink like the birch and
take the children up to church
Miles and miles of cheesy smiles
in churches and cathedrals
One feed the cold and needy,
drought and flood
An end to evil, it's elementary,
my dear
Watson
From the pistol and the smoke
The
Jetson and the
Bronson are the victims
I'm a cruel, stupid joke
you