The vans they come in convoys now, stealing through the dawn Silent in the countryside in the hills up to the north There's road blocks on the Meden bridge There's click, click clicking on the phone They're sealing off our villages, sealing off our homes This ain't some tin-pot story arriving from a distant shore But our own sweet, green and pleasant land in 1984
Her father crossed the battle lines in the first months of the war She frowns down at the soup kitchen - she doesn't have a father anymore It's cold in the early mornings, standing with your mates Staring at the thick blue line armed and ready at the gates This ain't some tin-pot story arriving from a distant shore But our own sweet, green and pleasant land in 1984
The servants of our great nation Have lied in the name of us all While the officers of peace and order Are busy breaking every law There's hundreds on trumped-up charges Hundreds on the streets The future of our villages Sown with bitter seeds And hatred starts to rumble where there was no hate before In our own sweet green and pleasant land in 1984 Nobody wanted to see the blood As the blue lights flash through in the night But all the words fell on deaf ears And now the blind frustration bites Two nations under one crown divided more and more In our own sweet green and pleasant land in 1984Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
