In our pockets, receipts and machinesnIn our estate the lift doesn't worknWalking is hard, 'cos here it's meant to benIn our flunky fingers, silver rings and sweatnFrom all that worried waiting for things to happennYou know they should, if only they wouldnBut in our heads, visions of getting beat up in back alleywaysnToo much mincing aboutnLondon's schemes devalue its youthnIt's inside your burning veinsnI'm in love with the solidarity that we know longer existnThe 80's soul boy misunderstood lettersnAll those obscure books and films and 45snLet convictions strengthen love for you, more than you can knownnIn our bones it feels like I'm going cold, physicalnAm I disappearing from sight? nNo friends, or lovers, or lettersnIn our hearts a secret nBehind phone box languagenBugs in the tapn'Cos there are no secrets kept hidden in this big seedy citynIn our mouths contempt, tops of alcoholic lies dribbling proletarian junk, like a spasticnEvery year you get a little sadder, a little drunkernA little more violent, cynical, waiting for direction or a new disciplinenIn our pants, hard cocks, a ruffian on the stairsnWriting dirty words in ArchwaynSo the only reason you play bad guitar is to get a bad reactionnAll this clone collective band shit hides your boredom, contempt, and no ideasnOur only ambition is just to diennSolidarity with other bands is good, we have no ideasnIn our palms, silver rings to give to young bridesnKept safe for now, in our souls important decisions waitnInside creeping out, pushing you forward into nan abyss of future uncertainty, of torture, treated clothnClimbing like a monkey to reach the top of stairs, lift broken downnGet into the car, (?) under the concrete cementnGo home quickly 'cos we have no ideasnnIn discos chatting up girls, dropping gins, slurring stupid words, nNicotine fingers reaching outnGo home and listen to your cracking needle records in stained sleevesnPut it all into unfocused claritynEstates all over London full of despair and violencenLoud radios are settling our nervesnWe look to get back into tunes and chords nWe sing and cry all nightnAnd in the morning it starts again, and again, and againnnMakes the guitar snap, all through the pissed-up slumbernYour body is getting colder, there's no more purposenLost, nowhere to go, have they chucked you out of school?nMade you walk the parks?nI wanted to be a monkey, not end up a cartoonnnWe have no ideas