The man on the platform
Wants them to conform
They stare at the platform
And they ask him to perform
A miracle, a miracle
A debacle, a debacle
Oh it's terrible, it's terrible
What's in their minds
A banner for our fever
A slogan for our hope
A unity so false
No one part of it can cope with
A miracle, a miracle
A debacle, a debacle
Oh it's terrible, it's terrible
What's in our minds
If someone fetch the brushes
Someone fetch the paints
We'll paint this town red
With red paint
Or with the blood of saints
Or with black paint
It's the colour of soul
The colour that knows
We may never paint this town red
With red paint
