Death March

Blinded by that Raleigh glare in the staged halls of history, built upon rotting stumps and phantom calls of freedom Dog-whistled through nostalgia to guide and then to bend your eyes beyond the headstones and graves of working men And now you're pining for a glory that was never really there doing dog's work and dazzled by the con Slaughtered foot-soldiers in an artificial war lost to a death march Onward lap dogs stutter laced with forlorn hope Seduced by the rigours of their meritocracy See there's winners and there's losers so work to be free And now you're pining for a glory that was never really there doing dog's work and dazzled by the con Slaughtered foot-soldiers in an artificial war lost to a death march Every fibre stitched with scripted fantasy while the scaffold of integrity is stripped beneath your feet Dismembered and tormented, paraded through the street A lifelong-sharpened knife dug in your own back Another story told on drunken talk of valour And all for what? Her Majesty's Fame And all for what? Northcliffe's gain Treasured displays of untold sacrifice adorn the piercing quiet of an emptying town