Lletres:
Crass Stations Of The Crass

I am not he, nor master, nor lord No crown to wear, no cross to bear in stations I am not he, nor shall be, warlord of nations These heroes have run before

Mother? Mother? Mother? Chorus: She's the anti-mother, mother is that you? She's the anti-mother, mother, mother is that you? It's Myra Hindley

They're using skateboards as spastic chairs For the legless fuckers who fought your affairs They're moulding babies' dummies with a permanent smile Keep

The train now standing on platform four What will you do when the gas taps turn? Where will you be when the bodies burn? Will you just watch as the cattle

Tiring moments, fucked up minds Empty faces, eyes that are blind Flick through the papers, car crash death Vacant pages offer no breath Of hope, future

Tiring moments, fucked up minds, Empty faces, eyes that are blind. Flick through the papers, car crash death, Vacant pages offer no breath. Of hope,

They sell us love as divinity, When it's only a social obscenity. Underneath we're all lovable. Hello hero, hero hello. Hello hero, Hello hello. Hello

I am not he, nor master, nor lord, No crown to wear, no cross to bear in stations. I am not he, nor shall be, warlord of nations. These heroes have run

They're telling you to do it, Grow up and tow the line, They tell you if you do it, Everything will turn out fine. Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes, what a wonderful