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Lift up your head, lift up your head
Your room in this decade of eathquake and bile
awaits you like a stewardess`s mortuary smile

You`ll miss all the fun, you`ll miss all the fun
A rich man turned pauper, his death marked [a sham]
I can`t get back to see it, `til you lift up your head

Me and mine are fools, me and mine are fools
say our elders who despise us, though we`re no longer young
They`re tired of our sneering, and we`ve blocked out their main street`s sun

They`re sleeping as we rise, one punch is drunk with pride
resides in [brutal face], sick from petrol smoke and [steak]
The few bohemians, with their too-white shopping wrists
confide in some crimson [page]
and pray to look cute in their squalor-dyed hair
Old age

Rolled out of here, is sun bright and clear
and we hold the fortune, in our cumulous
There`s nothing else on earth that I will be part of
Why waste a lifetime on soil which won`t bear fruit?
and why argue with gangsters who only smile and act mute?
If he pulls that trigger, as he says he must,
then to them, goes the last word [and then]
The sleep of the just, the sleep of the just, the sleep of the just

But that`s never enough
But that`s never, never enough

Lift up your head, lift up your head
Your room in this decade of eathquake and bile
awaits you like a stewardess`s mortuary smile

You`ll miss all the fun, you`ll miss all the fun
A rich man turned pauper, his death marked [a sham]
I can`t get back to see it, `til you lift up your head

Me and mine are fools, me and mine are fools
say our elders who despise us, though we`re no longer young
They`re tired of our sneering, and we`ve blocked out their main street`s sun

They`re sleeping as we rise, one punch is drunk with pride
resides in [brutal face], sick from petrol smoke and [steak]
The few bohemians, with their too-white shopping wrists
confide in some crimson [page]
and pray to look cute in their squalor-dyed hair
Old age

Rolled out of here, is sun bright and clear
and we hold the fortune, in our cumulous
There`s nothing else on earth that I will be part of
Why waste a lifetime on soil which won`t bear fruit?
and why argue with gangsters who only smile and act mute?
If he pulls that trigger, as he says he must,
then to them, goes the last word [and then]
The sleep of the just, the sleep of the just, the sleep of the just

But that`s never enough
But that`s never, never enough

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