Days Of The Underground

In visions of acid we saw through delusion and

brainbox pollution,

we knew we were right.

The streets were our oyster, we smoked urban

poison and we turned all this noise on,

we knew how to fight.

We dropped out and tuned in, spoke secret

jargon and we would not bargain for what

we had found in the days of the underground.

We believed in Guevera, we saw that head held up

and our anger welled up,

but we kept it cool.

No need for machine guns 'cause the system was

crumbling, our leaders were fumbling,

while we broke every rule.

We saw them on T.V. they'd blown their cover and we

tried to smother their voices

with sound, in the days of the underground.

Whatever happened to those chromium heroes, are

there none of them still left around, since

the days of the underground?

Now we can look back at the heroes we were then,

we made quite a stir with our sonic attack,

street-fighting dancers, the assassins of

silence, with make-believe violence, on a hundred

watt stack.

They offered us contracts, we said "we don't

need 'em", we'll just take our freedom and will

not be bound in the days of the underground.

And some of us made it but not smiling Michael,

his black motorcycle got eaten by rust.

And John the Bog dreamt that he slept at the

wheel, but when he woke it was real, too late

to have sussed.

And Jeff was a poet who wrote with a spray

can on walls,

saying "Hey man, I believe that we've drowned"

in the days of the underground.