| He was the poster child of miserable
|
| He was in love with a coloured boy
|
| No chance for hope in a land of servatude
|
| And now the ghost of Alexandria
|
| Hanging their hearts like the boys in the oak
|
| To remind us that we’re only 13 knots away
|
| from repeating our mistakes
|
| No one can see on the outside
|
| No one can hear on the inside
|
| No one will speak the name to blame
|
| The dead sing
|
| It’s not over
|
| It’s not over
|
| It’s not over
|
| It’s not over
|
| She was the poster child of ritual
|
| She was in love with the U.S.A.
|
| She was from some place but she could not tell us where
|
| And now the ghost of Alexandria
|
| Labour the field like amber waves of grain
|
| To remind us that we’re only a minimum wage a day
|
| A bowl of rice a day
|
| From repeating our mistakes
|
| It’s not over
|
| It’s not over
|
| It’s not over
|
| It’s not over
|
| No one can see on the inside
|
| No one can hear on the outside
|
| No one will speak the name to blame
|
| The dead sing
|
| And we watched the summer turn
|
| To the autum of glory
|
| And we watched the summer turn
|
| To the autum of glory
|
| And we watched the summer turn
|
| To the autum of glory
|
| And we watched the summer turn |