Из альбома: The Tower
The echo of a thousand marching boots hammers on the air
They're singing anthems, chanting oaths and whistle as Salome lifts her skirt.
Because they're 'real' men and they're healthy, happy, own the place
They raise hell when they're sober, wrestle tigers when they're drunk
In their living rooms a picture of the queen nestles in between Miss August and a placard saying HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS.
(Keep it pure, keep it white. Keep it free of undesirables
Because freedom is so valuable and getting scarcer.)
Fight!
So they march
Smashing windows, splashing slogans
Pushing petrol bombs through doors 'til a uniform appears
Gently whisper in the ear of the leader
"That's against the law but we'll ignore it this time.
Peace Krime's got to be official!"
Keep it clean. Keep it quiet.
In a lonely moor the digger's working
Bigger holes hold more
And the patriots stay in as convoys rattle down the street
No one hears the weeping
No one listens for the cracks at dawn
The shoveling goes on and on and on
But the patriots aren't frightened cos they heard it on T.V.
That a Golden Age lies 'round the corner
Any day now...