Blame!

Blame, blame the pen that scraped the page

Blame, blame the feet that trod the stage

Blame the chord that strummed for stringing us along

Before the golden age

Blame, blame the guns and their gauge

Blame the strikers and the barely living wage

Blame those human rights for tying up The Hague

Before the golden age

It seems you have me at a disadvantage

You're the sage, the mage, it's such a privilege

But it's pretty bold to claim you're a romantic

You're the genius who unlocked the tiger's cage

So we blame the lost fish and his withered fin

Blame all the rubbish and the overflowing bins

Blame the drummer and his din

But don't blame the state we're in

For the golden age

We're looking at a future that's uncertain

As the headlines shift like spirits on the page

Pay no attention to the crew behind the curtain

Pulling levers as the oil runs down their face

One kisses his Saint Christopher which tarnishes black

And a voice declares the traveller is come

Two raises her gold crucifix which hisses into steam

Just like the ploughshares that they're melting down for guns

They clean up their reputations on the dirtiest shows

And the audience forgets on cue

The editor cuts to the infinite feed

And we wonder why we're so confused

Blame!

Blame!

Blame!

Blame!

Blame every word said in rage

Every word said in rage

Blame every word said in rage

Every word said in rage

Wooh

Wooh

Wooh

Wooh

Wooh

Wooh

Wooh

Wooh