Feeding Of The 5000

Asylum

I am no feeble Christ not me. He hangs in glib delight upon his
cross, above my body. Christ forgive. FORGIVE? I vomit for you
Jesu. Shit forgive. Down from your cross. Down from your papal
heights, from that churlish suicide petulant child. Down from
those pious heights, royal flag bearer, goat, billy. I vomit for you.
Forgive? Shit he forgives. He hangs in crucified delight nailed to
the extent of his vision, his cross, his manhood, violence, guilt,
sin. He would nail my body upon his cross, suicide visionary,
death reveller, rake, rapist, lifefucker, Jesu, earthmover Christus,
gravedigger, you dug the graves of Auschwitz, the soil of
Treblinka is your guilt, your sin, master, master of gore, enigma.
You carry the standard of your oppression. Enola is your gaiety.
The bodies of Hiroshima are your delight the nails are your only
trinity, hold them in your corpsey gracelessness, the image I
have had to suffer. The cross is the virgin body of womanhood
that you defile. You nail yourself to your own sin. Lame arse Jesus
calls me sister there are no words for my contempt, every
woman is a cross in his filthy theology, his arrogant delight. He
turns his back upon me in his fear, he dare not face me.
Fearfucker. Share nothing you Christ, sterile, impotent, fucklove
prophet of death. You are the ultimate pornography, in your
cuntfear, cockfear, manfear, womanfear, unfair warfare, warfare,
warfare, warfare, warfare, warfare, warfare, warfare.

JESUS DIED FOR HIS OWN SINS, NOT MINE

Do They Owe Us A Living?

Fuck the politically minded, heres something I want to say, about
the state of the nation, the way it treats us today. At school they
give you shit, drop you in the pit, you try and try to get out, but you
cant because theyve fucked you about. Then youre a prime
example, of how they must not be, this is just a sample of what
theyve done to you and me.

Do they owe us a living? Of course they do, of course they do.
Do they owe us a living? Of course they do, of course they do.
Do they ow us a living? OF COURSE THEY FUCKING DO.

They dont want me anymore, cos I threw it on the floor. They
used to call me sweet thing but Im nobodys plaything, and now
that I am different, theyd love to bust my head, theyd love to see
me cop out, theyd love to see me dead.

Chorus

The living that is owed to me Im never going to get, theyve
buggered this old world up, up to their necks in debt. Theyd give
you a lobotomy for something you aint done, theyll make you an
epitome of everything thats wrong

Chorus

Dont take any notice of what the public think, theyre so hyped
up with t.v., they just dont want to think. Theyll use you as a
target for demands and for advice, when you dont what to hear it
theyll say youre full of vice.

Chorus

End Result

I am a product. I am a symbol, of endless, hopeless, fruitless,
aimless games.

Im a glossy package on the supermarket shelf. My contents
arent fit for human consumption. My ingredients will seize up
your bodys function. I am the dirt that everyone walks on. I am
the orphan nobody wants. I am the staircarpet everyone walks
on. I am the leper nobody wants to touch.........much.

I am a sample. I am a scapegoat of useless, futureless, endless,
mindless ideas.

I am a number on the paper you file away. Im a portfolio you
stick in the drawer. Im the fool you try to scare when you say,
We know all about you, of that you can be sure, well, I dont
want your crazy system, I dont want to be on your files. Your
temptations I try to resist them cos I know what hides beneath
your smiles, its.......EST.

I am a subject. I am a topic for useless, futureless, endless,
mindless debates.

You think up ways that you can hide me from the naive eyes of
your figurehead, but dont you find that it aint easy? Wouldnt you
love to see me dead? Your answer is to give me treatment for
crying out when you give me pain, leave me with no possible
remnant, you poke your knives into my brain, you send me
insane.

Im an example. Im no hero of the great, intelligent, magnificent,
human race.

Im part of the race that kills for possessions, part of the race
thats wiping itself out. Im part of the race thats got crazy
obsessions like locking people up, not letting them out. I hate the
living dead and their work in factories. They go like sheep to
their production lines. They live on illusions, dont face the
realities, all they live for is that big blue sign, it says...Ford.
IM BORED, BORED, BORED.

They've Got A Bomb

They wont destroy the world, no, theyre not that crazy. Youre not
dealing with the town hall. Theyre not crazy. No political solution
so why should we bother? Well whose fucking head do you think
theyre holding it over?

FOUR. THREE. TWO. ONE. FIRE.

They cant wait to use it. They cant wait to use it. They cant wait
to try it out. They cant wait to use it. Theyve got a bomb. Theyve
got a bomb and they cant wait to use it on me.

Twenty odd years now waiting for the flash, all of the oddballs
thinking well be ash. Well the four minute warning has run on into
years, are we waiting for them to confirm our fears?

FOUR. THREE. TWO. ONE. FIRE.

Chorus

They can build them small, call it tactical. Stop the fallout, make it
practical to smash the misfits who foul up their scene with the
practical, tactical, killing machine.

FOUR. THREE. TWO. ONE. FIRE.

Chorus

Punk Is Dead

Yes thats right, punk is dead, its just another cheap product for
the consumers head. Bubblegum rock on plastic transistors,
schoolboy sedition backed by big time promoters. CBS promote
the Clash, but it aint for revolution, its just for cash. Punk
became a fashion just like hippy used to be and it aint got a
thing to do with you or me.

Movements are systems and systems kill. Movements are
expressions of the public will. Punk became a movement cos we
all felt lost, but the leaders sold out and now we all pay the cost.
Punk narcissism was a social napalm, Steve Jones started
doing real harm. Preaching revolution, anarchy and change as
he sucked from the system that had given him his name.

Well Im tired of looking through shit stained glass, tired of
staring up a superstars arse, Ive got an arse and crap and a
name, Im just waiting for my fifteen minutes fame. Steve Jones
youre napalm, if youre so pretty why do you smarm? Patti
Smith, youre napalm, you write with youre hand but its
Rimbauds arm.

And me, yes, I, do I want to burn? Is there something I can learn?
Do I need a business man to promote my angle? Can I resist the
carrots that fame and fortune dangle? I see the velvet zippies in
their bondage gear, the social elite with safetypins in their ear, I
watch and understand that it dont mean a thing, the scorpions
might attack, but the systems stole the sting.

PUNK IS DEAD. PUNK IS DEAD. PUNK IS DEAD.

Reject Of Society

Not for me the factory floor sweeping up from nine to four. Not for
me the silly rat race, I dont see the point in anycase. People ask
me why I say what I do, I say to them, Well wouldnt you? if you
were fucked up just like me, a reject of society. They say I dig a
hole and jump right in, well I dont give a shit about anything, I
dont comply to their silly rules, all they are is hypocritical fools.

You give us conscience money, now you start to worry. The
Frankenstein monster you created has turned against you now
youre hated.

They tell me Im not what theyd like me to be, its their fault, you
cant blame me. They fucking tricked me half the time now
theyve got to stand in line. They dont like it when they see me
have fun, they turn around and then they run. The dont listen to
what I say, Im a reject of society.

Chorus

General Bacardi

Ive see it all before, revolution at my back door, well whose to
say it wont happen all again. The Generals sip bacardi, while
the privates feel the pain.

They talk from the screen and T.V. tube, they talk revolution like
its processed food. They talk anarchy from music hall stages,
look for change in colour supplement pages. They think that by
talking from some distant tower, that something might change in
the structure of power. They dream, they dream, never walk on
the street. They dream, they dream, never stand on their feet.

Chorus

Alternative values were a con, a fucking con.They never really
meant it when they said Get it on. They really meant, Mine,
thats mine, cant you see? They stamped on our heads so that
they could be free. They formed little groups, like rich mans
ghettoes, tending their goats and organic tomatoes. While the
world was being fucked by fascist regimes, they talked of
windmills and psychedelic dreams.

Chorus

Banned from The Roxy

Banned from the Roxy...O.K. I never much liked playing there
anyway. They said they only wanted well behaved boys, do they
think guitars and microphones are just fucking toys? Fuck them,
Ive chosen to make my stand, against what I feel is wrong with
this land. They just sit there on their overfed arses, feeding off the
sweat of less fortunate classes. They keep their fucking power
cause their fingers on the button, theyve got control and wont
let it be forgotten. The truth of their reality is at the wrong end of a
gun, the proof of that is Belfast and thats no fucking fun. Seeing
the squaddy lying in the front yard, seeing the machine guns
resting on the fence. Finding the entrance to your own front door
is barred and theyve got the fucking nerve to call it defence.
Seems their defence is just the threat of strength, protection for
the privileged at any length. The government protecting their
profits from the poor, the rich and the fortunate chaining up the
door. Afraid that the people may ask for a little more that the shit
they get. The shit they get. The shit they get. The shit they get.
The shit they get. The shit they get. The shit they get. The shit
they get. DEFENCE? SHIT, ITS NOTHING LESS THAN WAR
AND NO ONE BUT THE GOVERNMENT KNOWS WHAT THE
FUCK ITS FOR. Oh yes they say its defence, they say its
decency, Mai lai, Hiroshima, know what I mean? The same
fucking lies with depressing frequency, they say We had to do it
to keep our lives clean. Well whose life? Whose fucking life?
Who the fuck are they talking to? Whose life? Whose fucking
life? I tell you one thing, it aint me and you. And their systems,
christ, theyre everywhere, school, army, church, the corporation
deal. A fucked up reality based on fear, a fucking conspiracy to
stop you feeling real. Well theyre wrong, aint got me, Id say
theyre fucking wrong, I aint quite ready with my gun, but Ive got
my songBanned from the Roxy, well O.K. I never much liked
playing there anyway. GUNS.

G's Song

This country tells us that were down and out, got you thinking that
were through. Got to suffer to get them moving, say its up to me
and you. Well, look around and youll see who gets the goods,
not you and me. Cause they aint suffering, no, not for us, theyre
masquerading like pissers must. They abuse us, keep us right
underfoot, with the illusion of contentment and good. Well its not
over, wars still around and theyve got no problem when youre
undergournd.

Fight War, Not Wars

Fight wars, not wars. Fight wars, not wars. Fight wars, not wars.
Fight wars, not wars. Fight wars, not wars. Fight wars, not wars.
Fight wars, not wars. FIGHT WAR, NOT WARS.

Women

Fuck is womens money. We pay with our bodies. There is no
purity in our love. No beauty. Just bribery. Its all the fucking
same. We make soldiers with our submission. Wars with our
isolation Fuck is womens money. We pay with our bodies.
There is no purity in motherhood. No beauty. Just bribery. Its all
the fucking same. We are all salves to sexual histories. Our
awareness of whoredom can be a release.

War is mens money. They pay with their bodies. There is no
purity in that game, only blood, death and bribery. Its still the
fucking same. But we have all got the power. Dont just stand
there and take submission on the strength of fear. FIGHT WAR,
NOT WARS.

Securior

Im a private in a private army, Im a private in a private army.

I am a working for securicor, take the money and come back for
more. I want to do it cause I know I should, for the customer and
the common good.

I walk around with a big alsation, hell rearrange you with no
provocation, and Im the bugger who has got the lead, youll have
to be bright if you want to get at me.

Securicor cares. Securicor cares. Securicor scares the shit out
of you, do you want to come closer?

I block the pavement with my club and hat, I deal in money that
you cant get at. You want to use me cause Im up for rent, tough
shit, cause Im really busy.

You ought to know me cause Ive been a cop, out of the army
where I learned a lot. Some kids still chuckle when they see my
van, but its not all money sonny, you want to come closer?

Securicor cares. Securicor cares. Securicor scares the shit out
of you. Do you want to come closer? DO YOU WANT TO COME
CLOSER?

Im a private in a private army, Im a private in a private army, Ima private in a private army.

Sucks

Do you really believe in Buddha? Buddha sucks. Do you really
believe in Jesus? Jesus fucks.

Is it alright really? Is it alright really? Is it working?

So you really believe in Marx? Marx fucks. Do you really believe
in Thatcher? Maggie sucks.

Chorus

Do you really believe in the system? Well o.k. I BELIEVE IN
ANARCHY IN THE U.K.

Chorus

You Pay

Youre paying for prisons. Youre paying for war. Youre paying
for lobotomies. Youre paying for law. Youre paying for their
order. Youre paying for their murder. Youre paying for your
ticket to watch the farce. Knowing youve made your contribution
to the systems fucked solution, to their political pollution. No
chance of revolution. No chance of change. Youve got no range.

Dont just take it. Dont take their shit. Dont play their game.
Dont take their blame. USE YOUR OWN HEAD. Your turn
instead.

Its economise. Its not apologise. Its not make do. Its not pull
through. Its not take it. Its not make it. Its not just you. Its not
madmen. Its not difficult. Its not behave. Its not, oh well, just this
once. Its fucking impossible. Its fucking unbearable. Its fucking
stupid. ITS FUCKING STUPID.

Angels

The angels are on T.V. tonight, grey puke, celluloid shit. The
army have sent a mission to Ireland, just to see to it. Kojak is on
the T.V. streets again, grey puke, fucking shit. They army say
they seek peace in Ireland an that theyll see to it.

That they keep in line, horizontal hold. Keep in line, vertical hold.
Keep in line, brightness. Keep in line, contrast. Keep in line,
VISION ON.

Coronation Street is on twice a week, grey puke, fucking shit.
The army say that they seek peace in Ireland and that theyll see
to it. The army are on the news report. WARS. BULLETS.
DEATH. Theyre beating the fuck out of someone just to see to it.

Chorus

VISION OFF.

What A Shame

It doesnt take much to bring you down. There are plenty of
people standing round. They wait till you slacken off just a bit.
They they fill you up with passive bullshit.

Its too good. It cant last. What a shame.

Watch out for the quiet ones at the back. All they want is the
smallest crack. Everythings happening down the front. Innocent
bystander youre the biggest runt.

Fuck the punks, Punks are fucked. Its too loud. Awful row. they
cant play. Theyll give up. In the end. What a shame. Oh what a
shame its still the same.

So What

They ask me why Im hateful, why Im bad. They tell me I got
things they never had. They tell me go to church and see the light.
Cos the good lords always right.

Well, so what, so what

So what if Jesus died on the cross. So what about the fucker, I
dont give a toss. So what if the master walked on the water. I
dont see him trying to stop the slaughter.

They say I wouldnt have to live from bins. If I would go along,
confess my sins. They say I shouldnt commit no crime. Cos
Jesus Christ is watching all the time.

So what, so what.
So what if hes always over my shoulder. I realise the truth as I
get older. I get to see what a con it is. Because its my life, mine
not his.

Well they say theyre going to send me away. Said theyre going
to make me pay. Were sorry but you have to go. You were
naughty, you said NO.

So what, so what.

So what if I see through the lies. So what if the people I despise
twist my arm and make me work, Im no deaf, dumb fucking Jerk.
Im no spastic lying in the street. Im no superstar elite. Im just a
person, a human being.

NO YOURE NOT YOURE A PART OF OUR MACHINE.

Youre a part of our machine because we want you to be. Weve
got you now and youll never be free. We can even have your
body after youre dead. We can take the eyes out of your fucking
head. Yes well take them out, use them again. We can do it you
know cos weve got your brain. Well crucify you like we crucified
him. Well make you obey our every whim. We got the power, the
power and the glory. Ive heard that before in a different story.
But the story I heard covered up the truth, didnt touch on the
actual factual proof. Didnt say about the bodies in the
concentration camps, didnt say about the surgeon knives
underneath the lamps, doesnt say that the ovens are still warm,
doesnt say that this wretched little form is a human being who
wants to live but not in the snot and shit they give.

They say that I had better keep quiet or theyre gonna douse my
light. Jesus Christ can save my life, but I can always use my
knife.

So what, so what, so what, so what, so what, so what, SO WHAT

Christ: The Album


HAVE A NICE DAY
Same old stuff, you've heard it all before,/ Crass being crass about the system, or is it war?/ We ain't got no humour, we don't know how to laugh,/Well if you don't fucking like it-fucking tough!/ Cos I'm the same old monkey in the same old zoo/ With the same old message trying to get through,/Screaming from the platform when the train ain't even there,/ I've got a one-way ticket, but I don't fucking care./ If what I've got to say is always much the same,/ It's cos the game the system plays is still the same old game./Senile idiots in their seats of power,/ Ancient rotting corpses breathing horror by the hour./ They're lovers of death those fucking creeps,/ Screwing our earth as our earth weeps./ Iron ladies and steel men/ waiting for their fucking war to start again./ Blood lusting nutters plan death for us all,/They'll be hiding in their bunkers as we watch the missiles fall,/ Ain't they just so decent, respectable and nice,/ Eating the fat of the land while it's us that pay the price./ Westminster's full of psychopaths with blood clots stead of brains,/ Flesh hungry vultures picking our remains,/ Shitting on the world they've shat on many times before,/ Fucked it good and proper, in the name of law./ Well bollocks to the lot of you and you can fuck off too,/If your bored with what I say, no-one's asking you./ Just fuck off and have your fun,/ Hoist your Jolly Roger and wave your plastic gun,/ With your painted face and your elegant style,/ How about trying to think for a while?/As you decorate your lifestyle with cheap consumer bliss,/ Forget about loving, it's your arse you're going to kiss./ As long as they've got you under their thumb/ With T.V. lobotomy and media fun,/ They'll have their way with you, what more can I say?/ Watch out for the mind police, and have a nice day.



MOTHER LOVE
CHORUS: Mummy and daddy owned me till I could understand/ That at the end of my arm was my own fucking hand./ That in my head I had a brain that they filled up with lies,/ That I didn't fucking need them with their love and family ties.

Little children shouldn't speak until they're spoken to,/ They're just another showpiece to show the neighbours who/ Can produce the perfect babe with everything in place,/ But god help you if you come out without an angel face./If you haven't got the looks that prove how nice you are,/ You'll have failed your duty and that's all you fucking are,/ You're just a status symbol that they need to be the perfect man and wife.

CHORUS

Just like a fucking dustbin they fill you up with trash,/ And tell you all that life is, is working for some cash,/ Life's a competition and you've got to be the best,/ So tread on everybody else, forget about the rest./ They tell you to be grateful for what they've done to you,/ That you really mustn't fail them cos you owe them a debt,/ Cos they're the ones that made you and they wont let you forget.

CHORUS

You're not a human in their eyes you're a novelty./ They don't want you thinking cos you'll break the fantasy,/ The fantasy that you're the toy providing endless fun,/ You're not a human being your their daughter or their son./ You bring them lots of happiness when you're very small,/ But when you lose those darling looks no-one cares to call,/ Cos you're no more the cuddly toy for them to hug and hold,/ You're not an individual and they're just getting old.

CHORUS



NINETEEN EIGHTY BORE
Who needs a lobotomy when we've got the ITV?/ Who needs ECT when theres good old BBC?/ Switch on the set, light up the screen,/ Fantasise and dream about what you might have been,/ Who needs controlling when they've got the cathode ray?/ They've got your fucking soul, now they'll fuse your brains away./ Mindless fucking morons sit before the set,/ Being fed the mindless rubbish they deserve to get./ Can't switch off Big Brother, they've lost all will to act,/ Lost in drab confusion, was it fiction? Was it fact?/ Another plastic bullet stuns another Irish child,/ But no-one's really bothered, no, the telly keeps them mild./ They've lost all sense of feeling to the ever hungry glow,/ Drained of any substance by the vicious telly blow./ No longer know what's real or ain't, slowly going blind,/ They stare into the gogglebox while the world goes by, behind./ The Angels are on TV tonight, grey pukefucking shit./ The army occupy Ireland, but the boot will never fit./ Was it Coronation Street? Or was it Londonderry?/ Oh it doesn't fucking matter, Paul Danielsll keep us merry./ Yes, I've heard of Bobby Sands, wasn't it Emmerdale Farm?/ Yes, that's right, he was kicked by a cow, I hope it didnt do him no harm./ And wasn't the Holocaust terrible, a good thing it wasnt for real./ Of course I've heard of H-Block, it's the baccy with man appeal./Deeper and deeper and deeper, layer upon layer./ Illusion, confusion, is there anyone left who can care?/ Yes, the Abbey National cares for you. Nat West and Securicor./ Well bring out the Branston bren-guns, let's spice it up some more./ The Sweeney are cruising Brixton, they've created another Belfast./ And J.R.'s advising Thatcher on lighting, make up and cast./ A thousand camera lenses point at the people's pain,/ As millions or mindless morons watch the action replay again./ Softly, softly, into your life, youre held in it's brilliant glow./ Softly, softly, feeding itself on the you youll never know./ Your life's reduced to nothing, but an empty media game./ Big Brother ain't watching you mate, you're fucking watching him.



I KNOW THERE IS LOVE
Do you think I was born in this wretched earth for you to govern and kill?/In your stinking factories and offices with your stupid systems and skills./Do you think I've got nothing better to do than to grovel in the shit and the crap,/ Asking for the bread and home that's mine and waiting for a pat on the back?/ You think I've got nothing better to do than live in the lie that you give?/ Learn the sweet morals, the lessons, the games and praise god for the fact that I live?/ You took me and made me a MAN by making me strong, the power of this land./ You took a woman and taught her she's less,/ A slave to the strong no more than a guest./ You taught me to love, find a mate and take/A woman to serve but your love is just rape./ You leave me my children to hold and distort, to bind with your rules of normality till caught./ I give them food that you sell in the shops, I'm told it has goodness when it's only the slops./ You've taken my health with your shitty benevolence,/ You've taken my dignity with your dole queue dependence./ You taught me to steal when I wanted to share, to take for myself and not even care./ You've shifted my vision with oppressive authority, the dreams and the hopes nearly fade to strangle me./ You gave me confusion until I had learnt to obey all the orders and never get burnt./ I shout in the streets and you take my voice, this sham of democracy leaves no choice./ You've taken my eyes 'til there's nothing to see except abuse and destruction, no chance to be free./ You've taken my thinking, my means of survival, thrust in my hand your gun and your bible./You told me to kill for the lord up above, you've given me hate when I KNOW THERE IS LOVE.



BEG YOUR PARDON
CHORUS: Beg the question, bend the truth, bail out the basement while theres holes in the roof./
In the beginning they said there was light,/ Well there ain't much left of it now./ We're lost in the darkness, searching sound and sight/ Of an answer to the what, where or how./ We're talking 'bout freedom while we're locked in a cell,/ Dreaming of a world without war,/ Forced to live on the boundaries of hell/ Like no-one's ever thought of peace before./ But what's the point of preaching peace if it's something you don't feel?/ What's the point of talking love if you think that love ain't real/ Where's the hopes in hopelessness?/Where's the truth in lies?/ Don't hold my hand if you can't look me in the eyes.

CHORUS

In the beginning they said there was light/ But somebody's burnt out the fuse./And now we're all lost in eternal night/ Looking for a candle to use./ Lots of little candles, isolated hope,/ Frail little flames in the gale,/ Lost little people who just can't cope,/ Just knocking their heads on the nail./ Whats the point of talking freedom if you protect yourself?/ What's the point of preaching sharing as you accumulate your wealth?/ It's so easy to be giving if the things you give ain't real./ It's so easy to lie if you ignore the things you feel.

CHORUS

In the beginning they said there was light/ But we never had the eyes to see./But rather than struggling or putting up a fight/ We ran like lemmings to the sea./ No-one really wants to get it all together,/ It's easier just to grab what you can./ Everybody's going it, hell for leather,/ Building little castles in the sand./ Hypocrisy, delusion, lies, pretence, deceit,/ Think only of yourself and the world's at your feet./ I don't believe the things you say, you make bullshit of the truth./ The game you play's offensive and your life's the living proof.

CHORUS

In the beginning they said there was light/ But I'm tired of hearing their lies./ I'm tired of deceit, gonna put up a fight,/ I'm going to use my own eyes./ Gonna make MY decisions, live my own life,/ They can keep their darkness and gloom./ Hypocrisy, trickery, I've had enough,/ They can keep their destruction and doom./ I've only one life and I'll live it my way,/They can keep their restrictions and law./ And if they think different Ill have one thing to say..."Fuck off 'cos I've heard it before."



BIRTH CONTROL
Industry on the mercenary blood path, military loves the gory war bath, economics shape the battle landscape, all join together for the grand rape./Moral intentions make a scapegoat, excuse the rotting corpse inside the trenchcoat./ Praise the rotting minds above the club tie that sits in towers up in the blue sky, above the clouds, obscure the scarred earth, discuss maneuvers, moves for more death, arms make profit from the crushed head, build the towers up on the ditch head./ Betrayal forms the formal skyline, tinted windows catch the sunshine, such ice cold beauty makes the heart sink, five thousand miles away the dead stink./ And here the graveyard to insult them, the city shines with laughing tombstones./ The profiteers, the warcry butchers, stir up the lust for legal slaughter./ The living dead who look up to them, who accept authority that kills them, work for the corporation making napalm, workers watch the burning children on the T.V. as they eat their meat pie with refusal in their minds eye to see their own lives in that cold death, their state of wealth upon that lost breath./ In the official offices of death plan leaders of men work to betray man./ Stocks and shares declare the next war, the torture starts behind the locked door, propaganda tops the big desk./ Compose an overture to fine death./ The hideous grey men of our nightmares dim the colour, foul the clean air, their eyes forsake all that they dwell on, drag the lover from the loved ones./ Patriots progress is a back step, a cruel noose around a young neck./ They teach our children in the classroom to respect a madman on a rostrum, to praise the dirty works of battle, bring out the ribbon, balloon and rattle, to dig their own graves in the cold earth...so sad and pointless now to give birth.



REALITY WHITEWASH
The grey man at the wheel/ Looks around to see if there's some skirt he can steal/ He doesn't really want to, he's just acting out a game/ And in their own fucked up way, most people do the same/ She cleans the bathroom mirror/So she can line her eyes/ An expert in delusion, an artist in disguise/ Shes not content with what she is, but she does it for her man/ And meanwhile hes out hunting, this master of the hunt/ Cruising down the high street in his endless search for cunt/ And the posters on the hoardings encourage his pursuit/ Glossy ads. where men are men, and women simply cute/ And the men are in their motorcars and the men have nerves of steel/ And they dream of Charlies Angels as they firmly grip the wheel/ And they fantasise theyre fucking with a real life movie star/ Fantasise to fill the gaps, to fill in every crack/ A whitewash on reality to hide the truth they lack/ Now shes sponging down the cooker, on the surface all is fine/ His dinner's in the oven cos he's doing overtime/ She switches on the telly, it makes her feel secure/Helps confirm her way of life, who needs to ask for more/ She sees the happy family, wife and hubby on the screen/ The perfect social unit, just like its always been/ She's done the very best she can/ To love and honour and obey her man/ And if she should ever doubt the wisdom of her choice/ She can turn to television for its moderating voice/ The ads. and weekly series are the proof she needs/ That a life of boredom outweighs the deeds/ She sits up till the epilogue and goes to bed alone/ Content that when he's finished work hell go straight home/ Meanwhile he downs another scotch, the lady has a coke/ And if he's asked about the wife he treats it as a joke/ "Hear the one about the you-know-what"/ He's got what it takes and he takes what he's got/ He took his woman and he'll take plenty more/ She took on a rat to keep the wolf from the door/ Then maybe in her loneliness she'll want to have a child/ Who'll be taught the games of adulthood, boxed and filed/ Another life to whitewash, to us a child is born/ To follow in its parents' tracks, the path's well worn/Fantasy and falsehood, truth and lie/ The fucked up system they call reality/The system needs its servants, each birth is one more/ They'll gently talk of freedom as they quietly lock the door/ 'Cos the system needs its servants if the system's going to run/ Needs its fodder for the workhouse, its targets for the gun.

THE GREATEST WORKING CLASS RIP OFFCHORUS: Ain't it just a rip off, oi, oi, oi/ Ain't it just a rip off, oi, oi, oi/ Ain't it just a rip off, oi, oi, oi/ What a fucking rip off, oi, oi, oi.

Another threatening glance, another macho stance/ Another aggressive fist, another arsehole pissed/ Another vicious threat, a stream of blood stained sweat/ Another bottle waved in the air, another battle with tension and fear.

CHORUS

Tell me, why do you glorify violence? Ain't there nothing better to give?/Why fuck up the only chance to be yourself and really live?/ You tell me you're a working class loser, well what the fuck does that mean?/ Is the weekly fight at the boozer gonna be the only action you've seen?/ Are you gonna be one of the big boys, well, we've seen it all before/ Muscles all akimbo as they boot down another door/ Will you see yourself as the hero as you boot in another head/ When you're just a pathetic victim of the media youve been fed/ You're lost in your own self pity, you've bought the systems lie/ They box us up and sit pretty as we struggle with the knots they tie/Okay, so you're right about one thing, no-one's got the right to shit on you/But what's the point of shitting on yourself, what's that gonna do?/ Working class hero beats up middle class twit/ Media labels, system's shit/ When it looks like the people could score a win/ The system makes sure that the boot goes in.

Yeah it's the greatest working class off, oi, oi, oi/ Just another fucking rip off, a fucking media ploy/ It's the greatest working class rip off, oi, oi, oi/ Ain't it just a rip off, ain't it just a rip off, ain't it just a rip off, oi.

Punk attacked the barriers of colour, class and creed/ But look at how it is right now, do you really think you're freed?/ Punk once stood for freedom, not violence, greed and hate/ Punk's got nothing to do with what youre trying to create/ Anarchy violence, chaos?/ You mindless fucking jerks/ Cant you see you're talking about the way the system works?/ Throughout our bloody history force has been the game/ The message that you offer is just the fucking same/ You're puppets to the system with your mindless violent stance/That's right you fuckers, sneer at us 'cos we say "Give Peace a chance"/Punk is dead you wankers, 'cos you killed it through and through/ In your violent world of chaos, what you gonna do?/ Is Top of the Pops the way in which you show how much you care?/ Will you take off now to the USA to spread your message there?/ Well mouth and trousers, sonny boy, never change a thing/ The only thing that'll ever change will be the song you sing/ Cos when youve bought your Rolls Royce car and luxury penthouse flat/ You'll be looking down your nose and saying "Punk dear chap, what's that?"/ You'll be the working class hero with your middle class dream/ And the world will be the same as the world has always been/ Punk's the people's music so you can stuff ideas of class/ That's just the way the system keeps you sitting on your arse/ Class, class, class, that's all you fucking hear/ Middle class, working class, I don't fucking care.

It's the greatest working class rip off, oi, oi, oi/ What a fucking rip off, oi, oi, oi/ It's the greatest human sell off, oi, oi, oi/ Ain't it just a rip off, oi, oi, oi.

Punk's the people's music and I don't care where they're from/ Black or white, punk or skin, there ain't no right or wrong/ We're all just human beings, some of us rotten, some of us good/ You can stuff your false divisions cos together I know we could/ Beat the system, beat its rule/ Ain't got no class, I ain't a fool/ Beat the system, beat its law/ Ain't got no religion cos I know there's more/ Beat the system, beat its game/ Ain't got no colour, were all the same/ People, people, not colour, class or creed/ Don't destroy the people, destroy their power and their greed.



DEADHEAD
Tired bored sad people, tired bored sad lives/ Endless cars on endless roadways past endless shopfronts with endless lies/ Even the winners, even the punters, tight lipped packages, think it's bad/ Can't imagine a revolution could deal with anything so sad/ Well it's all set up so you can't do it/ No let up so you don't make it/ And all arranged so you can't have it/ All enclosed so you won't take it/ Set in little pockets of isolation/ Separated by regulation/ Crushed for product in a rich man's passion/ Relative ration for the ration nation/ Tear a bit, smash a bit, cause a little pain/ That's a contribution then they build it up again/ Fool yourself thinking it's a holy held belief/ When all the time it's just another light relief/ Oh boredom psychological stunt/ You never really feel it when you're up at the front/ And it doesn't really matter where the hell it's going/ As long as everybody has the hot blood flowing...

Excitement and thrills/ Will put off the ills/ Radical frills/ Docility pills/New Wave, splash in the pan/ Real music by dildo Dan/ Tired old discos, sham balam/ Soddern modern, christ, futurists again/ Play the machine/ Crank up the dream/ We're just what we seem/ Know what I mean?

But no-one can wipe out the last five years/ So there's other ways of living than in supergloo pairs/ Marry me darling?/ Fuck off, creep!/ Tired and lonely, life on the cheap/ Didn't plan it, but now we're very happy/ Another poor fucker drowns in its nappy/ Bakunin and bollocks and fun and farts/ Hit the right fantasy and come up the charts.
Treat people like shit and that's what you get.




YOU CAN BE WHO?
CHORUS: Don't want a life of lies and pretence/ Don't want to play at attack and defence/ Just want my own life. I want to be free/ So you can be you, and I can be me.

Respectable businessmen smart and secure/ Eat the fat of the land that they robbed from the poor/ The butcher is smiling as he brings down the knife/ As he cuts up the meat, he thinks of the wife/ As eminent psychiatrists suffer paranoid fits/ The ones they call mad have to pick up the bits/ The preacher speaks calmly, says it's love that we lack/ While his imaginary dagger is held at our back.

CHORUS

In bed you're the master of mistress, who cares?/ Abusing each other as you work off your fears/ Go climb a mountain, go fuck a scout/ Avoidance of self is what it's about/ Pretence and illusion to avoid who you are/ Don't work on yourself, just polish the car/ Switch on the telly afraid you might find/That as well as body you've also a mind/ Cheap glossy surface to cover the lie/ Cheap easy answers to the what, where and why/ Media drivel, yet you still watch the screen/ Life ain't for real, it's a magazine/ Conned from the start but hang onto the lies/ You're a slave to the cathode ray paradise/You don't want the world, you just want the pics/ Media junkies, you'd die for a fix.

CHORUS

So you say you'll reject it, well maybe a start/ But it's so fucking easy to act out a part/ You say you'll reject it, but still toe in line/ Conning yourself that you're doing just fine/ Anarchy, freedom, more games to play?/Fight war, not wars? Well it's something to say/ Slogans and badges worn without thought/ Instant identities so cheaply bought/ Well freedom ain't product, it isn't just fun/ If your looking for peace your work's just begun/Fighting oppression, aggression and hate/ Fighting warmongers before it's too late/ We've got to fight back to show that we care/ For so many years weve been silenced by fear/ Our lives have been ruined by liars and fools/ The powerful and greedy who bind us with rules/ Politicians and preachers who bind us with laws/ Who have stolen our peace and given us wars/ They've used us as means to their own violent ends/ Turned us against each other, made foes out of friends/ They've distorted, perverted, polluted our lives/ Brainwashed the world with their sordid beliefs/ They seek to possess, control and corrupt/ If it's freedom we're after, they've got to be stopped.



BUY NOW, PAY AS YOU GO
Buy now, pay as you go,/ Buy now, say hello./ You can put a mortgage on your life/ To enter Shoppers' Paradise./ A trade-in for your dignity./ A lovely colour console TV./ To watch and cherish as the days slip by,/ And dream of the things that money can buy.

Brushed chrome shit, plastic crap,/ My life and my vision is worth more than that./ Plate glass ghetto, shopping spree,/ I'm no fucking commodity./Lusting for objects, white wall refrigerator./ Cut off your fingers and buy a vibrator./ Get them while it lasts, your time is running out./ A new mink for christmas, that's what life's about.

A new tank, a new bomb, awaits you in the store. Is life all that shallow that youre reaching our for more?/ Start planning now for a family plot./ A satin-lined bunker where your corpses can rot./ Well there's nothing for sale here, no day-glo gore./ And I ain't no waxed-up showroom floor whore./ I dont need carrots dangled in front of my eyes./ Man made pre-fab, polyester lies.

Or sexy glossy adverts left on my mat./ I live with my needs I don't need that./ Don't need a yacht to take a cruise./ Don't need a telephone in the loo./ Won't barter my soul for a rip-joint sale./ Excess is just another noveau jail./ Don't want to grow fat off the fat of the land,/ Or to choke on the greed of public command.

Work thirty years with one foot in the grave./ Possession junkie, consumer slave./ If money buys freedom it's already spent./ Your object's the subject of my contempt./ Buy now, pay as you go,/ Buy now, say hello./ Bye bye/Bye bye.



RIVAL TRIBAL REBEL REVELS
Cor blimey guvnor I'm the big 'un, cop an eyeful of this muscular arm./Being tough n' rough is my kind of fun but, of course, I never do no harm./It ain't my fault I like cracking bones, it gives me a funny kind of thrill,/And I can't help smiling at the pathetic moans as I go in for the kill. Tribal wars are raging, It's a battlefield in the street, there's games to play and hell to pay when the rival tribal rebels meet.

Why can't people just leave me be?/ I can't help doing what I do,/ But Ill do anybody who ain't like me so forget your what, why or who./ I ain't got no purpose and I don't give a fuck,/ I never asked for this life./ If youre looking for reasons you're out of luck, I'll just show you the point with my knife.

Tribal wars are raging, no-one's safe out on their own,/ The gangs are about and they scream and shout, so you'd better not be caught alone. I did it cos there ain't nothing else to do, there ain't nowhere'll let me in./ It ain't my fault I want to hurt and screw/ So I've destroyed every place where I've been./ I had trouble at the local so they won't serve me there,/ I just had to chivvy up this bloke,/ I left him with a smile cut from ear to ear but the bleeder never got the joke./ I used to have a bird but I put her up the spout so I had to tell her where to get off./ Well, you cant blame me if I want to get about, if you're a man you've got to be tough./ I used to go down the cafe for tea but my boot got attacked by the door,/ so now it ain't open for the likes of me and we're back on the streets like before.

Tribal wars are raging, our heroes are standing tall, but the truth of the matter, if you cut out the patter, is that pride always comes before the fall. They can stand on the corner with their violence and their hate, stand there and fester 'til they've left it too late/ to realise it's themselves theyve put there on the spot 'cos they've wasted the one and only life that theyve got./ Tribal wars are raging, everyone's just acting out bad parts,/ Hey there big man, take a look at yourself, it's in the mirror that the real war starts.



BUMHOOLER
CHORUS: If they drop a bomb on us, we fucking deserve it,/ We know we got it coming, we fucking deserve it,/ They got a comfy set up, they'll try to preserve it./ We had the early warning, we can sit and observe it.

Sliding down guidelines, cradle to the grave,/ All the willing saviours see that we behave./ Everybody knows they're there, see them all around./ Lots of little people who'll put you in the ground. Well, take a burning issue and stuff it up your arse./ They've fucked you with a furrowed brow, shitting broken class,/ Marching down the 'dilly to demonstrate again,/ While the men who plan the holocaust are pissed out of their brain./ Brain of pasty people, wholl bomb it all to fuck,/ You can be a victim or they'll let you try your luck,/ Pass it on to others, ship it down the line,/ Leave the world in ruins, you know we've got the time.

CHORUS

Cop-outs look for motives...Freudian analyst,/ Come on, Mr. Horror, what do you make of this?/ Won't find many people without their rationale,/ Any handy concept to hang upon the wall,/ Soldier got his enemy,/ Police have got the state,/ Family have got home sweet home,/ SS got red tape./ MP's got his duty,/ Priest has got his sin,/ Everybody finds a hole,/ To drop somebody in./Seeking out wisdom in the ironies of life,/ Weighing up subtleties, fiddling with the ties,/ No-one else decides for you, whether to or not,/ You make an easy target if you're running on the spot.

CHORUS

Someone's been training, flexing their muscles,/ Getting in practice, irrelevant tussles,/ Given a march, or a quiet Sunday demo,/ They wait till the state put the finger on you.

Peeping through a frown, your humanity in rags,/ Playing the loser till the sense of purpose sags,/ They can deal with heroes, watch the bleeders run,/It's only your head keeps the target from the gun,/ No-one else decides for you, whether to or not,/ You make an easy target, if you're running on the spot...


SENTIMENT
Feathers burn so easily, the cat is blinded in the garden, last vision the lark is flame./ The cattle shed gives off the smell of sunday kitchen, the gentle eye, the dispensable perfection./ Before the flash take two weeks food, pile the sacks of earth and hide./ All of us here know it, we grew with it, we grew it./ Fighting amongst ourselves, leaving bits of flesh on barbed wire, a little blood on the floor./ Locks and bars across the door, well versed in violation, our children beat each other in the garden./ Our failure to accept the earth, we talk of love but push it to the edge./ This is no natural aggression composing death, I am afraid for beauty when I see the fist, the perfect hand that turns against itself, the perfect hand that holds a gun or wields a butcher's blade, or leads to death the used-up bull or incarcerates the hopeless fool or takes the forest with a single flame and leaves the nest an empty shell./ Human kind condemns the hunting beast yet his own choice leaves behind such ragged meat./ The military dream of blood, their sweet wine flowing in the veins of men who work towards our bloody end./They fly Enola gaily, give birth to this waiting...waiting, give us thereality of our hatred, give the earth nothing./ Melting, goats dead on the green, dying lambs bleating by the wire...three last days on earth, I lay down to die in the grass.



MAJOR GENERAL DESPAIR
We're looking for a better world but what do we see? Just hatred, poverty, aggression, misery./ So much money spent on war when three quarters of the world is so helplessly poor./ Major General Despair sits at his desk, planning a new mode of attack, he's quite unconcerned about chance or risk, the Major Genearals a hard nut to crack./ Oh yes, he designs a cruise missile, tactically sound, operationally OK, while the starving crawl onto the death pile, they can't avoid their fate another day./ Attack on the mind, but he calls it defence, but I ask you again who's it for?/ Do the starving millions who don't stand a chance hope to benefit by his stupid war?/ Babies crippled with hunger before they could walk, mothers with dry breasts cry dry tears, and meanwhile Major General Despair gives a talk on increasing the war budget over the years./ How can they do it, these men of steel, how can they plot destruction, pain?/ Is it the only way they can feel, by killing again and again?/ Is it some part of themselves that has died that permits them to plan as they do?/ Or is it us that is dead, do we simply hide from the responsibility to stop what they do?/ There's so many of us, yet we let them have their way, at this moment they're plotting and planning./ We've got to rise up to take their power away, to save the world that they're ruining./They're destroying the world with their maggot-filled heads, death, pain and mutilation, they've got the responsibility of millions of dead. Yet theyre still bent on destruction./ The generals and politicians who advocate war should be made to wade in the truth of it, they should spend sleepless nights shivering with fear and by day time should crawl in the death pit./ Theyll find the truth of what they've done there, festering corpses they and their kind made, eyeless skulls that endlessly stare having seen the truth of military trade./ The earth was our home, the wind and the air, the blue sky, the grass and the trees, but these masters of war, what do they care? Only sentiments, these./ It's our world but through violence they took it away, took dignity, happiness, pride./ They took all the colours and changed them to grey with the bodies of millions that died./ They destroy real meaning through their stupid games, make life a trial of fear./ They destroy what values we have with their aims, make us feel it's wrong if we care./ Well, we do care, it's our home, they've been at it too long, if it's a fight they want it's beginning./ Throughout history we've been expected to sing their tired song but now it's OUR turn to lead the singing....Fight war not wars/make peace not wars/ fight war not wars/ make peace not wars....

Penis Envy

Bata Motel

I've got 54321,
I've got a red pair of high-heels on,
Tumble me over, it doesn't take much,
Tumble me over, tumble me, push.
In my red high-heels, I have no control,
The rituals of repression are so old,
You can do what you like, there'll be no reprisal,
I'm yours, yes I'm yours, it's my means of survival.

I've got 54321,
Come on my love, I know you're strong,
Push me hard, make me stagger,
The pain in my back just doesn't matter.
You force-hold me above the ground,
I can't get away, my feet are bound,
So I'm bound to say
That I'm bound to stay.

Today I look so good,
Just like I know I should,
My breasts to tempt inside my bra,
My face is painted like a movie,
I've studied my flaws in your reflection
And put them to rights with savage correction,
I've turned my statuesque perfection
And shone it in your direction.
So come on my darling, make me yours,
Trip me over, show me the floor,
Tease me, tease me, make me stay,
In my red high-heels I can't get away.
I'm trussed and bound like an oven ready bird
But I bleed without dying and I won't say a word.
Slice my flesh and I'll ride the scar,
Put me into gear like your lady car,
Drive me fast and crash me crazy,
I'll rise from the wreckage as fresh as a daisy.
These wounds leave furrows as they heal,
I've traveled them, they're red and real,
I know them well, they're part of me,
My birth, my sex, my history,
They grew with me, my closest friend,
My pain's my own, my pain's my end.
Clip my wings so you know were I am,
I can't get lost when you're my man.
Tame me so i know your call,
I've stabbed my heels so I am tall,
I've bound my twisted falling fall,
Beautiful mute against the wall,
Beautifully mutilated as I fall.
Use me, don't lose me.

I've got 54321,
I've got a red pair of high-heels on.
Strap my ankles, break my heels,
Make me kneel, make me feel.
Turn, turn, turn, like a clockwork doll,
Put in your key and give me a whirl.
Tease me, tease me, the reason to play,
In my red high-heels I can't get away.
I'll be your bonsai, your beautiful bonsai,
Your black-eye bonsai, erotically rotting.
Will my tiny feet fit your desire?
Warped and tied I walk on fire.
Burn me out, twist my wrists,
I promise not to shout, beat me with your fists.
Squeeze me, squeeze me, make me feel,
In my red high-heels I'm an easy kill.
Tease me, tease me, make me see,
You're the only one, I need to be me.
Thank you, will you take me?
Thank you, will you make me?
Thank you, will you break me?
Use me, don't lose me,
Taste me, don't waste me.
Use, lose, taste, waste.

Systematic Death

System, system, system.
Death in life.
System, system, system.
The surgeons knife.

System, system, system.
Hacking at the cord.
System, system, system.
A child is born.
Poor little fucker, poor little kid,
Never asked for life, no she never did.
Poor little baby, poor little mite,
Crying out for food as her parents fight.

Send him to get school.
Force him to crawl.
Teach him how to cheat.
Kick him off his feet.
Poor little schoolboy , poor little lad,
They'll pat him if he is good, beat him if he is bad.
Poor little kiddy, poor little chap,
They'll forvce feed his mind with their useless crap.

They'll teach her how to cook.
Teach her how to look.
Tey'll teach her all the tricks,
Create another victim for their greasy pricks.
Poor little girly, poor little wench,
Another object to prod and pinch.
Poor little sweety, poor little filly,
They'll fuck her mind so they can fuck her silly.

He's grown to be a man.
He's been taught to fit the plan.
Forty years of jobs.
Pushing butooms, pulling knobs.
Poor fucking worker, poor little serf,
Working like a mule for half of what he's worth.
Poor fucking grafter, poor little gent,
Working for the cash that he's already spent.

He's selling his life, she's his royal wife,
Timid as a mouse. She's got her little house,
He's got his little car and they share the cocktail bar.
She likes to cook his meals, you know, something that appeals.
Sometimes he works til late so his supper has to wait,
But she doesn't really mind cos he's getting overtime.
He likes to put a bit away for that rainy day,
Cos every little counts as the cost of living mounts.
They do the pools each week hoping for that lucky break.
Then they'd take a trip abroad, do all the things they can't afford.
She'd really like to have a fur, he'd like a bigger car.
They could buy a bungalow, with a Georgian door for show.
He might think of leaving work, but no, he wouldn't like to shirk.
He'd much prefer to stay and get his honest days pay.
He's got a life of work ahead, there's no rest for the dead.
She's tried to make it nice, he's said thank you once or twice.

Deprived of any hope.
Taught they couldn't cope.
Slaves right from the start.
Til death do them part.
Poor little fuckers, what a sorry pair,
Had their lives stolen, but they didn't really care.
Poor little darlings, just your ordinary folks,
Victims of the system and its cruel jokes.
The couple views the wreckage and dreams of home sweet home,
They'd almost paid the mortgage, then the system dropped its bomb.

Poison In A Pretty Pill

Your tactile eyes running over glossy paper,
Printed on with tactile lies of glaze and guaze.
That say "forget yourself, adorn with this disguise",
This womanhood of smooth and tampered whores.
Let me warn you of their cold sensitivity,
They'll have you gathered in a trap of glass.
Is your reflection all that you will recognise?
Thjat cruel lie will stare you in the face.
Wrappeed up in haze and flow of bridal gown,
They tell your lover he must hold a gun.
You're the pornographic reassurance he's a man,
They deal with flesh, incarcerate with rags,
Red lips, shimmer silk and body-bags,
Hairless legs against the blistered napalm burn.
I want to rape the substance of your downy hair,
In that mist a guttedf child fights for air.
Against the fragile, mashed and sweaty wound
Your factile beauty has an outrageous sound,
Like a glamour billboard in a battlefield.
At least the bloody-red poppy was of nature's will,
That flower perfecting by barbed-wire fence
Must be insulted by your scented poor pretence
Just as I, who finds it hard to touch you now,
You traumitise my love with needle doubts,
I want so gently to remove your mask.
It's hard enough to find water here
In this barrenness of dishonesty and fear
Without you accepting pioson in a pretty pill.
Your bondages of silky robes and lace
Are the banbdages of a biullet punctured corpse,
The layers of precious imitation worn
Are the layers of history that suffocate the unborn.

What The Fuck

What now? Now you destroy the earth,
Dry the river beds.
What now? Now in your control, birth and death,
Dry, the bodies, incandescent in the heat.

Your fire is melting both soil and soul,
In plan maybe, is that not enough?
Your war and raving of it is so total,
You're consumed by it as you'd consume us.
Would you see the fire from your sanctuary of death?
What terrible pain you need to hide,
In your hatred you'd seek to destroy the earth,
What is it that you have been denied?
Your mind and its rantings are so barren,
What the fuck are you thinking? What the fuck?
Your eyes and their vision, empty, staring,
What the fuck are you seeing? What the fuck?

So singular your motives, yet impossible to define,
How finely lined my destiny in the cobwebs of your crime.

So singular your future, so alien your plan,
Takje all of this and I'll take what I can.
A town that is no more,
'My god," you say," what have I done?"
But you won't heed what's gone before,
"What pity,"you say," there is none."
And so you drive the world to war,
But this war will not be lost or won,
The desolation that you've seen but never saw
Is the lesson that you teach but never learn.
But would you see the fire in the world where you exist?

Will your hard eyes register the pain?
Are you so cold that there is no distress?
Where there's death would you give death again?
No flowers in your landscape, some withered rose
Kicked amongst the corpses where they lay,
Halted where are hope died, froze,
By the horror of your acts compelled to stay,

Unnoticed all this in your lusting after death,
How determined that your darkness should be shared,
Unnoticed in your blindness this miracle of breath,
What element of beauty attracts your cruel desire?
Would you see the burning? Is that your delight?
Would you have me see it in your stead?
Would you feel my yearning? Peace, life, light,
Body, breath. Would you take all this?

What is it that you're seeking, so cold and deprived?
What is it that you dream of in your empty eyeless
head? Why must I share your lust of death? Can you not
die alone? Why must I share your fear of breath,
light, life, PEACE?

Where Next Columbus

Anothers hope, anothers game,
Anothers loss, anothers gain,
Anothers lies, anothers truth,
Anothers doubt, anothers proof.
Anothers left, anothers right,
Anothers peace, anothers fight,
Anothers name, anothers aim,
Anothers fall, anothers fame.
Anothers pride, anothers shame,
Anothers love, anothers pain,
Anothers hope, anothers game,
Anothers loss, anothers gain.
Anothers lies, anothers truth,
Anothers doubt, anothers proof.
Anothers left, anothers right,
Anothers peace, anothers fight.
Marx had an idea from the confusion of his head,
Then there were a thousand more waiting to be led.
The books are sold, the quotes are bought,
You learn them well and then you're caught.
Anothers left, anothers right,
Anothers peace, anothers fight.
Mussolini had an idea from the confusion of his heart,
Then there were a thousand more waiting to play their part.

The stage was set, the costumes worn,
And another empire of destruction born.
Anothers name, anothers aim,
Anothers fall, anothers fame.
Jung had an idea from the confusion of his dreams,
Then there were a thousand more waiting to be seen.
You're not yourself the theory says,
But I can help, your complex pays.
Anothers hope, anothers game,
Anothers loss, anothers gain.
Satre had an idea from the confusion in his brain,
Then there were a thousand more indulging in his pain.
Revelling in isolation and existential choice;
How can you be alone if you use anothers voice?
Anothers lies, anothers truth,
Anothers doubt, anothers proof.
The idea born in someone's mind
Is nurtured by a thousand blind
Anonymous beings, vacuous souls,
Do you fear the confusion, your lack of control?
You lift your arm to write a name,
So caught up in the identity game.
Who do you see? Who do you watch?
Who's your leader? Which is your flock?
Who do you watch? Who do you watch?
Who's your leader? Which is your flock?
Einstein had an idea from the confusion of his knowledge,
Then there were a thousand more turning to advantage.
They realised that their god was dead,
So they reclaimed power through the bomb instead.
Anothers code, anothers brain,
They'll shower us all in deadly rain.
Jesus had an idea from the confusion of his soul,
Then there were a thousand more waiting to take control.
The guilt is sold, forgiveness bought,
The cross is there as your reward.
Anothers love, anothers pain,
Anothers pride, anothers shame.
Do you watch at a distance from the side you have chosen?
Whose answers serve you best? Who'll save you from the confusion?
Who will leave you an exit and a comfortable cover?
Who will take you too the edge, but never drop you over?

Berkertex Bride

The object unsoiled is packed ready and waiting,
For the moment of truth in this spiritual mating.
The object unsoiled is packed ready and waiting,
To be owned, to be cherished, to be fucked for the
naming.

The public are shocked by the state of society,
But as for you, you're a breath of purity.
Well, don't give me your morals, they're filth in my
eyes,

You can pack them away with the rest of your lies.
Your painted mask of ugly perfection,
The ring on your finger, the sign of protection,
Is the rape on page 3, is the soldiers obsession,
How well you've been caught to support your
oppresion.

One god. One church. One husband. One wife.
Sordid sequences in brilliant life,
Supports and props and punctuation
To our floewing realities and realisations.
We're talking with words that have been used before
To describe us as goddesses, mothers and whores,
To describe us as women, describe us as men,
To set out the rules of this ludicrous game,
And it's played very carefully, a delicate balance,
A masculine/feminine perfect alliance.
Does the winner take all? What love is in your grasping?
What vision is left and is anyone asking?
What vision is left and is anyone asking?
She's a Berkertex bride. Bride. Bride.

Smother Love

The true romance is the ideal repression,
That you seek, that you dream of, that you look for in
the streets,
That you find in magazines, the cinema, the glossy
shops,
And the music spins you round and round looking for
the props.

The silken robe, the perfect little ring,
That gives you the illusion when it doesn't mean a
thing,
Step outside into the street and staring from the wall
Is perfection of the happiness that makes you feel so
small.
Romance, can you dance? D'you fit the right description?
Do you love me? Do you love me?
Do you want me for your own?
Say you love me, say you love me,
Say you know that I'm the one,
Tell me I'm your everything, let us build a home.
We can build a house for two, with little ones to follow.

Proof of our normality that justifies tomorrow.
Romance, romance.
Do you love me? Say you do,
We can leave the world behind and make it just for two.
Love don't make the world go round, it holds it right
in place,
Keeps us thinking love's too pure to see another face.
Love's another skin-trap, another social weapon,
Another way to make men slaves and women at their beckon.
Love's another sterile gift, another shit condition,
That keeps us seeing just the one and others not
existing.

Women is a holy myth, a gift of mans expression,
She's sweet, defenceless, golden-eyed, a gift of gods
repression.
If we didn't have these codes for love, of tokens and
positions,
We'd find ourselves as lovers still, not tokens of
possessions.
It's a natural, it's a romance, without the power and
greed,
We can fight to lift the cover if you want to sow a
seed.
Do you love me? Do you? Do you? Don't you see they aim to
smother
The actual possibilities of loving all the others?

Health Surface

Places of sickness nurse me cold,
Attendant whiteness glare in the dark,
Straighte n out the winding sheet
Twisted round in poorest dreams.

Shattered proofing of the lost,
Splinter shackled, little wounds
Of cruelty and truth, they tie
The one way sickness up inside.

Regressive smile, a baby's laugh,
A learnt contortion of the mouth,
Places of laughter leave me cool,
Hot fire dying down to ash.

Beauty breezes through so swift,
Endless roundabout of grief.
Not much to ask, a rightful place
Where nothing matters, but can touch
Without a sinking heart, this sigh
Could be the wind among the leaves.

This pain does not belong to me,
They've taken everything away
To nurse the sickness of loss,
Instilled with fear and bleachy guilt
Impatient winds up in her cloth.

The tired shoes are splitting up
With weighty promises of love,
Waiting for the last to fall away
Buckle noose around the strap
All that separates the flesh
From green grass or sinking mud.

Stagnating, knowing the delusion,
Clean sheets waiting for a body,
Slapped into life and slowly gutted.

A place of sickness is to die in
Tired of cruelty and lying,
Drip-fed tears of the forsaken.

They say,"We'll soon have you up and walking".
Took the prison for a stronghold.
Took the lies for a love-song.
Paid for life on a shoe-string.

Dry Weather

Is there any prepared to tell me why?
Tell me why I'm being sucked dry?
Oh yes, that is yours and this is mine,
As long as the balance is out, that's fine.
I don't define the terms of the oppresion,
Do you awake to that dull and grey depresion?
You ride on me,
Suck my energy.
You take want you want when you want it,
You reject any change that I make.
You ask me for more when I've spent it,
When I've given it all, you still take.
Oh yes I know the lines you draw for protection,
The number given for a name is simply for detection,
I know I'm only paper in a file,
But couldn't you treat me as a human for awhile?
You offer your protection, but insist when I decline,
You offer independence, but demand I tow the line.
You say you give me frredom, but you hang on to the key,
Well, don't you think, perhaps, the decision's up to me?
So tell me I'm dreaming if I want to live
And I'll tell you you're scheming to make me give,
More than i want to, more than I can,
You don't want person, you just want woman.
You hide behind logic, secure with your facts,
You've a history of time to back up your claims,
Protecting the future by filling up the cracks
That might expose the real nature of your games.
You want woman cos she's children for your system,
Well, people wither in that living death.
You hide behind your prejudice, afraid of my wisdom,
Afraid I might question your unquestioned worth.
Is there anyone prepared to tell me why?
Tell me why I'm being sucked dry?
Used as a tool? Treated as a fool?
Shat on? Spat on?
Totally confused?
Fucked up? Mucked up?
Totally abused?
Pulled about? Fooled about?
Treated like a toy?
Joked about? Poked about?
Something to destroy?
Tricked? Kicked?
I don't want these games.

Our Wedding

All I am I give to you
You'll honor me I'll honor you
Rich or poor or come what may
We'll forsake all other love
Just we two, one flesh one blood
In the eyes of god
I am yours to love and honor
I'm giving you my love...
Never look at anyone, anyone but me
Never look at anyone, I must be all you see
Listen to those wedding bells
Say goodbye to other girls
I'll never be untrue my love
don't be untrue to me
don't be untrue to me
don't be untrue to me
don't be untrue to me
don't be untrue to me
don't be untrue to me