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