The true romance is the ideal repression, that you seek,
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That you dream of, that you look for in the streets,
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That you find in the magazines, the cinema, the glossy shops,
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And the music spins you round and round looking for the props.
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The silken robe, the perfect little ring,
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Will gives you the illusion when it doesn't mean a thing,
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Step outside into the street and staring from the wall
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Is perfection of the happiness that makes you feel so small.
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Romance, can you dance? D'you fit the right description?
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Do you love me? Do you love me? Do you want me for your own?
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Do you love me? Say you need me, say you know that I'm the one,
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Tell me I'm your everything, let us build a home.
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We can build a house for us, with little ones fellow,
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The proof of our normality that justifies tomorrow.
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Romance, romance. Do you love me? Say you do,
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We can leave the world behind and make it just for two.
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Love don't make the world go round, it holds it right in place,
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Keeps us thinking love's too pure to see another face.
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Love's another skin-trap, another social weapon,
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Another way to make men slaves and women at their beckon.
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Love's another sterile gift, another shit condition,
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That keeps us seeing just the one and others not existing.
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Woman is a holy myth, a gift of mans expression,
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She's sweet, defenceless, golden-eyed, a gift of gods repression.
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If we didn't have these codes for love, of tokens and positions,
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We'd find ourselves as lovers still, not tokens of possessions.
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It's a natural, it's a romance, without the power and greed,
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We can fight to lift the cover if you want to sow and seed.
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Do you love me? Do you? Do you? Don't you see they aim to smother
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The actual possibilities of seeing all the others?
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Do you love me? Do you? Do you? Don't you see they aim to smother
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The actual possibilities of seeing all the others?
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Smother Love
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| Crass |
