The echo of a thousand marching boots hammers on the air. They're
|
singing anthems, chanting oaths and whistle as Salome lifts her skirt
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because they're 'real' men and they're healthy, happy... own the
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place. They raise hell when they're sober, wrestle tigers when
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they're drunk. In their living rooms a picture of the queen nestles
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in between Miss August and a placard saying HOME IS WHERE THE HEART
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IS. (Keep it pure, keep it white. Keep it free of undesirables
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because freedom is so valuable and getting scarcer.). Fight! So they
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march. Smashing windows, splashing slogans, pushing petrol bombs
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through doors 'til a uniform appears. Gently whisper in the ear of
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the leader. "That's against the law but we'll ignore it this time.
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Peace Krime's got to be official!"
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Keep it clean. Keep it quiet. In a lonely moor the digger's working,
|
bigger holes hold more... And the patriots stay in as convoys rattle
|
down the street. No-one hears the weeping, no-one listens for the
|
cracks at dawn. The shovelling goes on and on and on. But the
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patriots aren't frightened cos they heard it on T.V. that a Golden Age
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lies 'round the corner. And day now...
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|
-----------------
|
Tower Three
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| The Legendary Pink Dots |
