Ah they'd like to think they're all equal
With their community hall
That their musical apparatus
Is nothing but a money making machine
Go then to their counter and pay your silver dime
Thirty pieces ought to do it
But mind they better shine
For the devil's in the detail
Or he's hidden in plain sight
It's about the traps and pitfalls
That's how he leads you into plight
You think that you have joined them
Their mysterious homogenous set
Like a gel of becoming
The eager flesh eating ambitious pet
Has started to devour them
In fact it's eating them alive
I went to see them becoming
But they turned into a beehive
There are the tulips of the field
The well healed crew
Who have grown out of universities
designed to build the few
Who will always grab the top jobs
Who will always succeed
Perhaps because they are obsessed
With the professions they need
To give them some kind of haven
A home to call a nest
Or a chance to claw at Eden
And find indoors their rest
I should have known the doctors
In the houses by the poor
Oh who could play at good neighbours
When the animals are at the door
And then those transient musicians
Whose egos are their fuel
Or their sheep of instrumentalists
Who follow in true tormentalist
school
Then there are solicitors, dedicated
And disciplined who rove around the town
In range rovers with their friends
The accountants on their wings' smiling crown
Happy to be deputized by the king
of the scene or queen
For they hold the keys to the bank vaults
And will only open them when they mean
Throwing down the gauntlet
The glove makers and drapers
Go around as carpetbaggers
For the local general elections
Campaigning also are the merchants
And investors in foreign steel
Who always have a plan
No matter how generous they feel
Because you know their philanthropic
Tendencies do mask
The hidden skill and dark intentions
About which we're all too afraid to ask
So accept their charity we do
And volunteer our time
In thought that free social credit
Is not a form of nepotistic crime
And yet it greases the wheels
Of this strange little town
That is simply a microcosm of
Any city in England
With less interference or notice
From the higher governmental climbs
It's that these enterprising fellows
See some rich vein of self-making advantage
They they can tap into
So they leave the hurly burly of the city
And retreat into a safer queue
Where it won't take so long
To reach their life goals
And why deny them the attainment of pleasure
Even if it costs them their souls
But many go to church to absolve themselves
of their crimes
For this has already been said before
It was best of times, it was the worst of times
So dig out your suitcases and threaten to leave it all
But you turn your head and see instead
That Rome still has time to rise and fall
So you may as well stick around
Long enough to see what happens
And what that will be
I can hardly see
For the log is still jammed in the cabins
