90 Seconds To Midnight

Your manifesto, it's all a mess, though Seen better prose from magazines in Tesco You spark an essay on 'what you say goes' Three pints down and I bet you think you're Rousseau Born into chains in a world that's gone insane, so goodbye (Oh-oh, oh-oh) They got a bouquet of bullets and an appetite to crucify (Oh-oh, oh-oh) The gaff's on fire, it's too far gone The guns for hire are at the door Pray to your god, come friendly bombs Div on the TV, it's like he sees me Bouncing by the ounce until I feel queasy Here's a reset, nuclear sunset No one's getting out alive I was born in chains in a world that's gone insane, so goodbye (Oh-oh, oh-oh) They got a bouquet of bullets and an appetite to crucify (Oh-oh, oh-oh) The gaff's on fire, it's too far gone The guns for hire are at the door Pray to your god, come friendly bombs Sit down and listen, ah Tick-tock on the doomsday clock We're the VIPs of the aftershock Tick-tock on the doomsday clock We're the VIPs of the aftershock Born into chains in a world that's gone insane, so goodbye (Oh-oh, oh-oh) They got a bouquet of bullets and an appetite to crucify (Oh-oh, oh-oh) The gaff's on fire, it's too far gone The guns for hire are at the door Pray to your god, come friendly bombs Come friendly bombs