Bread And Circuses Lyrics

The lads are on the march again: adrenaline is surging

Through the arteries of power

The gutter press is snarling, waving flags and beating chests

From the safety of its concrete Dockland towers

The price of bread is escalating and the jobs are getting scarce

But the circuses get bigger every year

If we lose the World Cup, God will give us back the Falklands

Before the latest Royal new-born appears

In the Corridors of Power, the game is Battleships

Sink a few and lose a few – that's Diplomacy

The body count gets higher, the planes and ships get fewer

The bereaved on both sides might agree

That the game's not worth the candle standing by a single coffin

But there's so much more at stake than death or life

There's property and money and oil and mineral rights

And loss of face, and patriotic pride

The bombs and missiles blossom, and the gunfire pounds and pounds

The ears of friend and foe

The Belgrano and the Santa Fe, the Sheffield and Sir Tristram

Death by death the roll of honour grows

Till the fighting fizzles out in bitter winter gales

Far too late for so many mothers' sons

The guns have fallen silent, but the words are bayonet-sharp

And the propaganda war goes on

The hawks are praising God across the tombstones of the dead

A service is attended by the Queen

The Prime Minister spits blood because a timid man of God

Recalls the dead on both sides in 'victory'

Peace in the South Atlantic; a bombing in Hyde Park

Bloody warfare in the Lebanon

We press on to self-destruction: even as this one war ends

The killing still goes on and on and on