Half a mile to the iron turnstile and you're swept into the herd
This is the trickster's instinct, this is the bitch's creed
Caught in the crush, you jostle and push, 'til the coppers give the word
Through the gate in a crazy late stampede
Stand by yourself as your ribs break and you suffocate
Like soldiers in the trenches, like chickens in the pen
Stand by yourself, shut your fucking prattle mate
Just sing your song, you'll never walk again
Riding the train in the fine spring rain, off to the city lights
Hiding behind your paper, checking the latest price
But the driver's working round the clock, it's old and battered rolling stock
You're heading up the junction and tearing out of sight
Stand by yourself as the engines crash and the windows smash
Crawl on the ceiling, cling to the racks, make for the open air
Stand by yourself, bodies laid out on the grass
Kneel and whisper in their ears and tell them how you care
Summer in the city, terror in the air
They went to hunt some desert rats, but now they're crawling over here
Send for the real Inspector Hound, there's trouble on the underground
Mind the gap before you disappear
Stand by yourself as the hands slip and the packs blow up
People turn to effigies and still the cold eyes stare
Stand by yourself, see the sights from an open top
Salute the pregnant torso in the square
You're growing old and sick now, you're a burden to your wife
There are things they need to fix now under the surgeon's knife
But as you dream beneath the mask, invisible armies are on the march
They're digging trenches in your flesh and threatening your life
Stand by yourself, they say one leg is better than none
But now you haven't any it's not much use to you
Stand by yourself, it's all about the resistance, son
Little for the many, plenty for the few
Stand by yourself as chickens all come home to roost
Falling with the fever, burning on the pyre
Stand by yourself, ladies and gentlemen drink a toast
To those who feed the flames, and those caught in the fire.