Your dead are buried, ours are reborn

You clean up the ashes while we light the fire

They're queuing up to dance on socialism's grave

This funeral is for the wrong corpse

This is my testimony, a dinosaur's confession

But how can something really be dead when it hasn't even happened?

Democracy is an alibi

The peaceful country is an ordered cemetery

What you call a sane man is now an impotent man

Smart bombs replace the dumb bombs

We can aim right into someone's kitchen

Hard rice sprays from the cooking pot

Into the eyes delicate jelly

When the natural order gets unruly

The cost of living starts going up

That makes a man's live worth so much less?

In the boring land of the snoring men

Where happiness is the taste of a sausage

And revolution is a powder for your wash

Glory in the greatest of a toilet soap

And a man falls in love with a motor

He trades his tractor for a microwave

Now we're all ex-tractor fans

Moving over to the golden state

Digging up bones tired old tails

They undertake to drive in nails

"Coo what a scorcher!"

"Are you ashamed of your bum?"

The sun is shining all around

But it's raining in our hearts

Hang on in there baby

Hang on in there child

We're gonna work it out sometime

Down in the dark we've been word-mining

We're caught in the light of the rising moon

Hairs on our palms and our vocabulary

We're gonna work it out soon