Who's to say it won't happen all again
        Cos the Generals sip bacardi, while the privates feel the pain

They talk from the screen and T.V. tube
Talk revolution like it's processed food
Talk anarchy from music hall stages
Look for change in colour supplement pages
They think that by talking from some distant tower
They something might change in the structure of power
They dream, they dream, never walk on the street
They dream, they dream, never stand on their feet

Chorus

Alternative values were a fucking con
They never really meant it when they said "Get It on"
They really meant "Mine, that's mine" don't you see?
They stamped on our head so that they could be free
They formed little groups, like rich mens ghettoes
Tending their goats and organic tomatoes
While the world was fucked by fascist regimes
Talked of windmills and psychedelic dreams

Chorus