| Man looks up on a yellow sky
|
| And the rain turns to rust in his eye
|
| Rumours of his health are lies
|
| Old England is dying
|
| His clothes are a dirty shade of blue
|
| And his ancient shoes worn through
|
| He steals from me and he lies to you
|
| Old England is dying
|
| Still he sings an empire song
|
| Still he keeps his navy strong
|
| And he sticks his flag where it ill belongs
|
| Old England is dying
|
| You’re asking what makes me sigh now
|
| What it is makes me shudder so well
|
| I just freeze in the wind and I’m
|
| Numb from the pummelin of the snow
|
| That falls from high in yellow skies
|
| Down on where the well loved flag of England flies
|
| Where homes are warm and mothers sigh
|
| Where comedians laugh and babies cry
|
| Where criminals are televised politicians
|
| fraternize
|
| Journalists are dignified and everyone is civilized
|
| And children stare with Heroin eyes
|
| Old England!
|
| Evening has fallen
|
| The swans are singing
|
| The last of sunday’s bells is ringing |