Iʼm sick of the thunder, Iʼm sick of the wind and the rain
Iʼm going under to preside over my paradise of pain
Call me a doctor, I feel like a rat who drowned
Iʼm sick of the sickness
In the thick of the fury and the sound
Itʼs the way of a waster to be a liar who forgets his own name
Let me give you a taster of my repertoire of cowardice and shame
If you ever forgive me thereʼll be nothing else which would astound
You who are quick to accuse me
In the thickness of your fury and your sound
Oh give me a break now. Iʼm sick of your broken refrain
No brick, no mortar would ever repair your disdain
Take me back to the country, Iʼm sick of this dirty old town
In the Twenty-First century
In the thick of the fury and the sound
Please get me some water, Iʼm dying of thirst from the booze
Be it longer or shorter itʼs always gonna be the same sick blues
Please get me some bread! Iʼm not even heavenward bound
Sheʼs killing me dead
In the thick of the fury and the sound
Iʼm sick of my conscience, Iʼm sick of my honesty, my lies
Iʼm sick of my stickiness, Iʼm sick of the innumerable tries
To make it all better, to put it back together, but how.....
Iʼm sick of the makeshift
Thickness of the fury and the sound
We are sick of hard labour, we are sick of soft conservatism
We lick under the table, we stick to an old stigmatism
We donʼt even square up, not even when weʼre around
We tick with the cuckoo-clock
Thick with dust and fury and sound
Whoʼs sick the crisis, whoʼs sick of the sun in their eyes
Whoʼs still looking for Isis, whoʼs still trying to synchronize
What still entices us to pray to Gods and idols long uncrowned?
Why bother even wake up, when all is woe, fury, sound.
Dog-gone sick of autonomy, God-damn sick of sacred excuses,
Sick of thʼeconomy, juggle the cash, hide the abuses
Who still got a dollar, a euro, a yen or a pound
Can toss it into my hat
Iʼm sick of the fury and the sound
Weʼve done enough damage, we walk on eggshells each day
Neither noble nor savage, we burnt our bridge, we blocked our way
We dignify an answer, how to tame hellʼs cancerous hound
We signify nothing,
We are sick with the fury and the sound
So sick of the wicked, so sick of the nationalist fronts,
Iʼm singing Jerusalem, but Iʼm sick of the terrible cunts
Iʼm going to Switzerland , or Hong kong, or any neutral ground
Iʼm going to sleep now
Iʼm thick with the fury and the sound
BJG © 2009
