There's dark satanic mills and there's green and pleasant hills Could be riding through Lancashire with all it's Witchcraft dead industrial air You can hear a melancholy desert song And smell George Orwell as a funeral goes on There's plenty with a license to prostitute And room to develop the ultimate building The air in here is dead industrial and so austere The air round here smells of religion and Vauxies beer We are this world we watch the sands drain from our hands We're naive but happy or so it seems We've all seen the big red bus faces gazing expressionless The breakfast joint to kill the beast helps sow the Seed for all manner of dangerous things Here it goes again as melancholy as the last one And when you feel as dogmatic as the next It's time to read into what it is that you do The air in here is dead industrial and so austere The air round here smells of religion and Sunday dinner We are this world we watch the sands drain from our hands This is our world we are the waters that we learned to work You can hear a melancholy desert song And smell George Orwell as the funeral goes on There's plenty with a license to prostitute And room to develop the ultimate building The air in here is dead industrial and so austere The air round here smells of religion and Vauxies beer We are this world the sand drains from our very hands We're naive but happy or so it seems The air in here is dead industrial and so austere The atmosphere smells of religion and Vauxies beer This is our world we are the waters That learned to work you smell the others
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Copy to Clipboard: There's dark satanic mills and there's green and pleasant hills Could be riding through Lancashire with all it's Witchcraft dead industrial air You can hear a melancholy desert song And smell George Orwell as a funeral goes on There's plenty with a license to prostitute And room to develop the ultimate building The air in here is dead industrial and so austere The air round here smells of religion and Vauxies beer We are this world we watch the sands drain from our hands We're naive but happy or so it seems We've all seen the big red bus faces gazing expressionless The breakfast joint to kill the beast helps sow the Seed for all manner of dangerous things Here it goes again as melancholy as the last one And when you feel as dogmatic as the next It's time to read into what it is that you do The air in here is dead industrial and so austere The air round here smells of religion and Sunday dinner We are this world we watch the sands drain from our hands This is our world we are the waters that we learned to work You can hear a melancholy desert song And smell George Orwell as the funeral goes on There's plenty with a license to prostitute And room to develop the ultimate building The air in here is dead industrial and so austere The air round here smells of religion and Vauxies beer We are this world the sand drains from our very hands We're naive but happy or so it seems The air in here is dead industrial and so austere The atmosphere smells of religion and Vauxies beer This is our world we are the waters That learned to work you smell the others
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