of a sad old feeling that yesterday brings on the
wings of the day after tomorrow's funeral
television propaganda songs,
not enough rights, too many wrongs
I hate not wanna wait for too long
As they grub around in the street
Tellin' me I'm a plastic,
My mother earth is hidin'
The other city being torn
By the dress being worn by
Dracula's bride every Sunday
And you make me feel no worse
Too many fat, old, ugly little men
Who shout about the beginning of the end
Better blame it all on the black man
And I can hear someone mumbling
that the revolution's here
And by next year we'll all be bathing
in the blood of the mongrel dogs
Who gave us good for nothing
and no one puts your head in
Talks of love, and you make me feel
and you make me feel nowhere