Will Varley - The Sound Of The Markets Crashing
I've been looking for something to hang on to,
looking underneath the sunset of red, orange and blue.
As the skies turn black and the winds gently cool,
I see nothing in the distance except the burning of fuel,
which rolls out of the wires and then into our brains,
fills our children's minds with regret and with shame
'till they're dreaming of things which they can't understand,
and they're standing in nightclubs with knives in their hands.
So parliament's hung, I say hang them in chains,
try them for murder and capital gains
and don't let them down 'till their eyes fill with tears
to the sound of the markets crashing.
But I don't really care, see I don't really mind,
'cause there's nothing but hounds in the election lines.
As for the edges of these oceans so deep, I say open the gates,
this land is not ours to keep, because borders they are nothing
except a fence around a hole where the thieves keep all of the jewels
that they stole, and the walls of Westminster
they are painted with blood and
they shine with the souls of the slaves that we robbed.
And the businessman's empire now lies cold in the mud
and he can't ask for forgiveness because he doesn't have a God,
except the money in his pockets and his first true love,
and the sound of the markets crashing.
Well I'm heading for the hills and I'm selling my TV,
'cause I'm tired of being told to buy things I don't need,
and I know they will accuse me of apathy
but my feet were made for walking.
And I'm not coming back until they see what we are,
just a lost little species who stares at the stars.
No, I'm not coming back 'till there's nothing at all
except the sound of the markets crashing.
Except for the sound of the empire crashing,
except the sweet sound of the markets crashing.