CITY ON ICE

She said, “I gotta get away”

She said, “To find a better place”

Do you think that I will find it as well?

Thousands of people, frozen in the city

Thousands of people, inability

Do you think they even have a choice?

Try to move on the city on ice!

Ice!

Try to move on the city on ice!

Ice!

Try to move on the city on ice!

I said, “We’ll make a clean escape

‘fore we’re old, and eaten up with hate!

Get out of this occupied territory!”

Thousands of people, prisoners in the city

Crowds of people, culpability

Do you think they understand their state?

Try to move on the city on ice!

Ice!

Try to move on the city on ice!

Ice!

Try to move on the city on ice!

SCIENCE'S FICTION

Dream to be modern, human toil replaced

Technology build a panacea, “Acquire leisure labour-free”

But a mechanical appetite, “Machine has its maintenance”

When I hear that mellifluous voice

I know it’s ‘Science’s fiction’

Wake to the nightmare, human souls displaced

Optical-fiber sorcery, an all-devouring cybernet

But the robotic-stratagem lies encased in perspex!

When I hear that mellifluous voice

I know it’s ‘Science’s fiction’

DOWN AND OUT

You’re always looking for attention

Think you’ve got something I need

Why don’t you stop this pretension?

Find you someone else to bleed!

That’s why you’re in so much trouble

Don’t you ever feel ashamed?

One of these days...

Noone’s gonna play your games

Down... and... out!!!

You’re always hurting for money

Making so many demands

Why don’t you stop acting horny

I’ve gotten wise to your plans

That’s why you’re in so much trouble

Don’t you ever feel ashamed?

One of these days...

Noone’s gonna play your games

Down... and... out!!!

TEENAGE PSYCHOPATH

At the age of seventeen

You thought you knew it all

Sex, drugs, & alcohol

Thought you’d done it all!

Hanging out on the streets each day

Think you made some friends

Fags, beggars, hookers, thieves

I see them as your end!

Teenage psychopath

Mommy’s little brat

Daddy’s little heart attack!

Thatcher’s chaos wrapped in plaid

Poseurs on the dole

Oxford bags & Elvis rags

Ain’t punk or rock ‘n’ roll

Getting up the parent’s nose

Distinguishes our tribes

On British rail in blighty pose

The best days of our lives

Teenage psychopath

Mommy’s little brat

Daddy’s little heart attack!

                                                     RECORDED 23 SEPTEMBER 2000