Well, first there came the father

And with the father came the sin

And from that beginning every sin's been wrangling to get in

Now they drain all sense of reason into an algorithmic stew

With a belly-aching, ankle-shaking slight of ridicule

But, the world keeps spinning

As the words come stinging, slinging by

And the boys keep singing

Flinging joy up to the sky

See, they keep seeing illusions

It's illusionary times

Where each fantasy is bad poetry laid out in perfect rhyme

It's the edict's endless virtue

It's the dictum's grumbling verse that echoes 'round the battle grounds

On the new salvation's birth

But, the world keeps turning

Their bellies churning for a fight

Here's the boys returning

Hurling songs into the night

So, I strip myself of glory

Leave all splendour to the dead

So, the rabble raff come to my gaff

They're calling for my head

They're eyeballing my doorbell

They're pillaging my shed

It's a real laugh

It's the modern way

It's a piaffe in a street melee

It's a rehash of an old ballet

It's a peepshow

Now the winds of change are squealing

The waves are pirouettes

And a bitter breeze blows through the trees like a weeping clarinet

So, some have huddled closely in amongst the mountain pine

Where a fool gets branded, reprimanded and cast out to the lions

But, the world's rotating

The moon's awakening to see the boys debating

Migrating from its apogee

So, they howl out in its honour

And dance in the lunar glow

They're rounding up the band

Set foot and let the people know

It's a real laugh

It's the modern way

It's a piaffe in a street melee

It's a rehash of an old ballet

It's a peepshow

We say

"One, two, hit it when they break through."

So, I gather up the fallen at the mouth of the abyss

The divils, dopes, the misanthropes

Yeah, we're going on the piss

And so, we steer a course for pleasure down some haunted alleyway

When the rasping groan of sub bass tones calls like Parthenope

Now, the holy racket draws us into the bosom of a bar

Where Azrael picks out a spell upon the neck of her guitar

And when I raise my hand to order

A man says "Bit of hush"

So, I watch her spit some fucking shit 'bout shaving off her bush

The boys are getting kind of lairy

Yeah, It's getting out of hand

My percussionist takes out his sticks

He's climbing up the stand

And with an healthy dose of porter and a shot of dopamine

He thumps the kit like Buddy Rich

Crying "Fuck the IFP"

Oh dear! That's got the patrons swinging

It's got them scratching in the fog

And the infantry comes barging in

As some hopeless dialogue swings between the gods of virtue like a creaking pendulum

And in the mezzanine plays out the scene of the rebel and his drum

And in the mezzanine plays out a scene from the War of '21

It's a real laugh

It's the modern way

It's a piaffe in a street melee

It's a rehash of an old ballet

It's a peepshow

We say

"One, two, hit it when they break through."