| Eight years of hard labour now seems suddenly to fade
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| Away we stand defeated, at home the police invade
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| Prosecutions hit an all time high, A.L.F. |
| friends locked inside
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| Our own they turn against us. |
| Well you’ve got what you want, now shut you mouth
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| Fuck you, fucking fuck off, can’t you see what you’re destroying?
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| They sit back fucking creasing up as we squabble assisting all of them
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| You are what you think and that’s nothing, can’t you see what we say is you?
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| Scurrying around like angry ants, banging our heads on the same wall
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| Stop; |
| don’t think that we are very close to getting there — where?
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| They give us tiny victories to keep us all content
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| To trick us into false achievement, the realisation difference
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| Look, everything we gain is what they let us have
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| Abort the system all you like, but the board game’s titled 'power'
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| And who’s got the board game in hand
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| The story continues, big business thrives
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| The world is endangered every day of our lives
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| They build their arsenals of armies, tanks and guns
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| Do you still consider life as simply being all fun?
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| Next time you see protest, ask yourself why?
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| People shout and scream, they want peace more than a dream
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| We simply want to live in the way we choose
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| One day there will be no rulers of the roost
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| So you stand back with your ideals, your rightful personal opinions
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| Taking what you want from me but don’t say I haven’t given
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| I won’t be stuck on the Christmas tree; |
| I won’t dictate what you should be
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| Now I just dream of being free
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| And tears fill my eyes when I think of what it could have been
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| Keep at the battle although support may die
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| Watch every move they make, but always ask why
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| I’m now glad I stand your outcast; |
| I know we saw it through the past
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| And any move we made wasn’t judged by good results
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| But by the stereotypes who made us their new cult
|
| We stepped across the lines the music biz neatly drew
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| We heard the screams of «sell out shit»
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| But didn’t have a clue
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| Some sell their arse to the BBC; |
| I’m so proud they don’t want me
|
| While they have their fantasies, their technicolour dreams
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| Remember that reality always breaks through, proving life’s just what it seems
|
| There’s still the Government’s police force, complete with boots and gloves
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| That puts a whole new meaning on the precious word love
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| The boot still goes in in Ireland, treading on the hands
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| Still misery and poverty, throughout the pleasant land
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| Still the threat hangs above our heads known by many names
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| That’s now nice and neatly packaged into harmless TV games
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| So we’ll continue fighting
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| Yes that’s right, we destroyed our own following
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| Smashed the legs from the pedestal, amongst howling and hollowing
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| Rose a movement standing so strong against all wrongs
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| It’s a world where little changes but the importance of songs
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| Has never been so great did it come too late?
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| Some set out to destroy us perhaps they like the state
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| Twelve years of Tory conditioning, police and state privilege
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| Finally proved too much for those now broken and fucked
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| But out of it came one important achievement, self-respect, dignity,
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| the acknowledgement of trying
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| There is no independence, and that’s how it’s going to stay
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| Not many understand madness, no one understood Conflict
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| Conflict is to clash, a battle
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| The house that man built stills stands strong
|
| The Centro Iberico’s now defunct
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| A nation of animal lovers coincide
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| With the stupid bastards who help EMI
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| Turning rebellion into money
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| Its time to see who’s who
|
| But the serenade is dead
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| This is not enough, the battle continues
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| We increased the pressure from protest to resistance to the ungovernable force
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| The Final Conflict. |
| Our war of words |