AND WE’LL DANCE ON YOUR GRAVE’TIL THE FLOWERS RETURN

I saw a newspaper picture from the political campaign

A woman was kissing a child, who was obviously in pain
She spills with compassion, 
as that young child’s face in her hands she grips
Can you imagine all that greed and avarice 
coming down on that child’s lips
Well I hope I don’t die too soon
I pray the Lord my soul to save
Oh I’ll be a good boy, I’m trying so hard to behave
Because there’s one thing I know, 
I’d like to live long enough to savour
That’s when they finally put you in the ground
I’ll stand on your grave and tramp the dirt down

When England was the whore of the world 
Margeret [sic] was her madam
And the future looked as bright 
and as clear as the black tarmacadam
Well I hope that she sleeps well at night, 
isn’t haunted by every tiny detail
‘Cos when she held that lovely face in her hands 
all she thought of was betrayal

And now the cynical ones say 
that it all ends the same in the long run
Try telling that to the desperate father 
who just squeezed the life from his only son
And how it’s only voices in your head 
and dreams you never dreamt
Try telling him the subtle difference 
between justice and contempt
Try telling me she isn’t angry 
with this pitiful discontent
When they flaunt it in your face 
as you line up for punishment
And then expect you to say “Thank you” 
straighten up, look proud and pleased
Because you’ve only got the symptoms, 
you haven’t got the whole disease
Just like a schoolboy, whose head’s like a tin-can 
filled up with dreams then poured down the drain
Try telling that to the boys on both sides, 
being blown to bits or beaten and maimed
Who takes all the glory and none of the shame

Well I hope you live long now, 
I pray the Lord your soul to keep
I think I’ll be going 
before we fold our arms and start to weep
I never thought for a moment 
that human life could be so cheap
‘Cos when they finally put you in the ground
They’ll stand there laughing 
and tramp the dirt down

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