Some days I drink my coffee by the grave of William Blake
Some days – when the hour´s past too late
Lost in my thoughts – where do I belong?
The London I knew is gone – long gone

The sun hangs low, the church bells toll
The clouds unfold with burning gold
When truth breaks through these city walls
Perfidious Albion must fall

This greedy, unpleasant land wraps itself in a flag
Pretending its freedom – a dictatorship in drag
The forever wars, tyrannical laws
The coup d´états with probable cause
All revealed to little more than polite applause

The sun hangs low, the church bells toll
The clouds unfold with burning gold
When truth breaks through these city walls
Perfidious Albion must fall

The agents of malice – provocateurs in disguise
Using slivers of truth to sell the biggest of lies
The lexicon is weaponised – population atomised
Information criminalised – the dissenters?
Tongue-tied!

The sun hangs low, the church bells toll
The clouds unfold with burning gold
When truth breaks through these city walls
Perfidious Albion must fall

By the grave of William Blake
By the grave of William Blake
By the grave of William Blake
By the grave of William Blake