When I woke up this morning, it was then that I heard
The sweet song of an African bird.
As its singing was swallowed by a jet fighter's roar,
I wondered what it had flown over for.
Was it some old colonial come to pay its respects
And pay duty in taxes of eggs,
Or more likely a mourner come to pity and grieve
Over what the great ape has achieved?

The wounds cut in hillsides left open to scar
By the bastards of minerals and ores
To carry the commerce for the wealth and the shame
Of the top of the fast funk food chain
As the wire on the wood brings his faceless unknowns
Talking in ivory peepshows
While the iron men sing of the power that they breathe
And cast shadows on more than fields.

CHORUS: And England, o England, you arrogant whore,
What on earth was your empire for?
As your last wicket falls,
What on earth was your empire for?

But don't moan for those pastures that steel and brick need;
They're the children of rapists and thieves
Who cut down the heart forests that covered our land,
Left her naked and abused by the damned,
So the springheads and the rivers that ran crystal and bright
Stand choked up with Johnnys and shite.
When the otters come swimming and badgers to drink,
What must the poor buggers think? CHORUS

I saw Eden torn by greed.

Repeat chorus to fade.

JE