Days into weeks of Sunday afternoons

Nothing much for us to say nothing real for us to do

Just watch the carousel go round and round in endless circles

in the pupil of the Deadeye until you just feel numb

It's virtual Jerusalem. There's not much trouble anymore

it's mostly the blissed-out stuff that people really go for

and the juggernaut tyranny of oblivion 4/4 

Double, triple bluff and then back on itself

a world of ironies and tribute bands, everything downsized

I don't know where it was but I swear I've heard that song

it was a century of answers and all of them have been wrong.

Wake me in a thousand years



Sorry little island, you look better in the rain

You looked more honest in blue or something we can't see through

and out across the world I see four billion claims 

and all of them have faces and all of them have names

Enough. Wake me in a thousand years



The Prozac dawn opens milky white

I don't remember what it was I got so passionate about

It's all now digitally synthesised, seduced, stainless

the bad smell of poverty disguised, deodorised

There's just the scent of money and Privilege still intact 

A century of madness put to sleep to start over again

Here comes the Presidential train.



We looked into the crystal and we felt the Fear

but it's already here, it's already too late

We're learning to love the things that we hate

We're learning to love the things that we hate