| It was no personal defeat, | |
| That suicide on Downing Street, | |
| They found him burning in his car, | |
| He paid the price for what we are. | |
| A stroke of luck, a trick of fate, | |
| The life I build, the mess I make, | |
| Too young to retire, too old to live, | |
| This message all he had to give, | |
| (Chorus) | |
| Derek Bainbridge did not die in vain, | |
| And I will sing his sad luck story, | |
| Desparation is a warning flame, | |
| Now we stand or fall with Derek Bainbridge. | |
| He came 160 miles, | |
| To wipe away all those smug smiles, | |
| The empty hours dragging by, | |
| His spirit withered up inside. | |
| (Chorus) | |
| He felt the man that he could be, | |
| Was only wasted potential. | |
| He went swimming in the deep forbidden sea, | |
| Looking for that extra dimension, | |
| In a selfish blue nation. | |
| It was no personal defeat, | |
| That suicide on Downing Street, | |
| You cannot call us civilized, | |
| As long as one life is denied. | |
| (Chorus) | |
| Swinging on a one-way pendulum, | |
| Driving down a dead end highway, | |
| Desparation is a warning flame, | |
| Now we stand or fall, | |
| Do we stand or fall. |
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