|
(as flash's empire is being dismantled piece by piece) |
|
There ain't no beauty |
|
And there ain't no style, |
|
There's no quality |
|
And there's no purity. |
|
Honour's dead and buried |
|
Because it's unnecessary. |
|
Look at all the people, |
|
Why they all look the same. |
|
They're walking to the factory |
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In their cloth caps and trilbies. |
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They've got no style, |
|
Ain't it a pity. |
|
They're tearing old quality down |
|
Without any pity, |
|
Now they're coming to take me away |
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To scrapheap city. |
|
They say that good manners belong on a heap, |
|
They say they're outdated and they're obsolete, |
|
And now they're coming to take me away |
|
To scrapheap city. |
|
There's no quality |
|
And there ain't no style |
|
Just miles and miles |
|
Of scrapheap piles. |
|
There's no quality |
|
And there's no purity. |
|
They're digging up all of the flowers |
|
Because they look pretty |
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And erecting identical concrete monstrosities. |
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They're killing off all of the animals too, |
|
The only ones left are the ones in the zoo. |
|
Now they're coming to take me away |
|
To scrapheap city. |
|
Ain't it a pity, |
|
Scrapheap city. |
