| Your servant here, he has been told |
| to say it clear, to say it cold: |
| It’s over, it ain’t going |
| any further |
| And now the wheels of heaven stop |
| you feel the devil’s riding crop |
| Get ready for the future: |
| it is murder. |
| Things are going to slide … |
| There’ll be the breaking of the ancient |
| western code |
| Your private life will suddenly explode |
| There’ll be phantoms |
| There’ll be fires on the road |
| and a white man dancing |
| You’ll see a woman |
| hanging upside down |
| her features covered by her fallen gown |
| and all the lousy little poets |
| coming round |
| tryin' to sound like Charlie Manson |
| and the white man dancin'. |
| Give me back the Berlin wall |
| Give me Stalin and St Paul |
| Give me Christ |
| or give me Hiroshima |
| Destroy another fetus now |
| We don’t like children anyhow |
| I’ve seen the future, baby: |
| it is murder. |
| Things are going to slide … |
| When they said repent repent … |