White domes on sacred land, B52’s in Arnhem Land
Cold wars buccaneers, lasers in the stratosphere
There’s a shadow across the sun, alarms of struggle and flight
There’s poised seeds in the perfumed garden
And the spectre of an endless night

Thunder in the distance, running with the hurricane
Feel the cold winds turning, keep the faith burning
Fire in the Ukraine, dust on the high plains
Thunder in the distance, running with the hurricane

Vogue fashions, empty passions, world banks, corporation think-tanks
Feeding us our new-made view, with out Weeties and our spectic news
Geriatric B-grade actor, power in his paternal smile
His inane quotes are last years jokes
Now we judge all his lies on style

Melt-down, southbound, the winds are blowing gale force
Gather up the children, batten down the doors
Hope’s like a beacon in the howling night
Mururoa, Pine Gap, Greenham Common
Together it’s going to be a long, hard fight

Rambo, cult machismo, Armageddon, the clouds keep spreading
Warriors rule by fear, fission for the profiteers
Mass march, rally in the twilight, heart and soul, a call for peace
If power is blocked through the ballot box
Then we’ll vote it in the open streets