Good morning, madness I woke up on the wrong side of history again I see you sat there in the corner Hiding from all the hordes at the border A pack of dogs, a flock of birds, a horde of people It's coming home, it's coming home, it's coming home! See, I did one of those DNA tests online And it turns out it's not your home, it's mine And I hear your dog whistle It's a flatulent squeak And I wake up to the sound of another door slamming shut Head in the sand, dick in hand All the throbbing hours piled up in a heap When I was your age I had streets in my name How is pretty is your past? Frantically fumble your away along that filthy rope And find it tied to your ankle Lifting and dragging at the exact same time In this ever twisting space And I'll take my place In a long history of bad men And I'll empty the country Light them up on the beach I'll give a measure of your pity Out there in the heat