Public Image Ltd.

Slow motion, slow motion Getting rid of the albatross Sowing the seeds of discontent I know you very

Is there a King that can do no wrong? The crown that sings its very own song When I play my fiddle, will I

I can see potential, I can see intention With a pocket full of seeds, hope keeps me alive I can see

Some people got more kicks than halfpence Crying for attention, like cracks in the pavement All of this

Little white lies, they hold little surprise Good things come in threes The places I haunt, the powers

What does it mean? What does anything mean? Sending out signals I see the smoke screens What is not dirty?

Where can I stand in my uniform? Cannon fodder, six foot tall Big and brave, next to my grave Wait

Think you know the answer? Think you got all the problems? Well, why not try and solve them? Instead of

Diplomatic washing machine Climb down from cloud cuckoo land Dish this dirt for the senile convert

Could have been a major problem But I did not, I didn't look back And all you dirty druggies

Some unions are based on trust, some unions are a must Trussed up like a turkey, upside down on a turn key

You make me feel ashamed At acting attitudes Remember ridicule It should be clear by now Clear by

Body and soul, an animal As a sword, swing double edged Dig deep down, that monthly frown You have the

U.S.L.S. 1 S.L.S. 1 U.S.L.S. 1 U.S.L.S. 1 S.L.S. 1 U.S.L.S. 1

I can only feel and think in the language of Clinches others have concocted for you Pre-fabricated,