Is it not of any significance,
That you've sold your soul to the loony bin?
Cos its got the whole world,
Dribbling at the chin.
Your tie's too short, what a novelty.
These dyslexic accountants on ecstasy,
They must come from London,
There's talk of redundancies.
If you want, I'll spare you a pointless view.
Things look grey,
And we all look like we're ready to cry to death.
I seem to forget what's important,
When I am tempted by junk food, and lying in.
I wake up at midday, and my face is bleeding again.
If you want, I'll spare you a pointless view.
Things look grey,
And we all look like we're ready to cry to death.
You'll be stocking up on cigarettes,
Till there's a nuclear warhead in your neck,
And your dreams will get quite frightening,
When both your lungs are tightening.
If you want, I'll spare you a pointless view.
Things look grey,
And we all look like we're ready to cry to death.