Saying Fat
I rely on (Bitter cold)
I depend on (Arctic snow)
A pair of trainers (I've got mine)
Could make a god of the two of us (I want yours)
I exist on (Apropos)
I insist on (Arctic snow)
A change of clothing (Will fill the void)
Could lift us into fidelity (Will suck you in)
The walls are coming in again (The sound keeps you hemmed to the past)
You gotta spin the fucking treadle (The streets grid alone from the door)
I rely on (Bitter cold)
I depend on (Arctic snow)
The manmade fibres (I've got mine)
That are the stuff of my birthright (I want yours)
I decide on (Apropos)
I retreat from (Arctic snow)
The dregs of discourse (Will fill the void)
For a new world order (Will suck you in)
The walls are coming in again (The sound keeps you hemmed to the past)
You gotta spin the fucking treadle (The streets grid alone from the door)
All the kids are rioting (In a pile of days between no oceans)
All the kids are staying fat (There's no art in a broken head)
And I'm air-kissing, back-slapping
Check the body for valuables
It's called progress
Come on, pilgrim, sing to the pyres
The time has come
It's called progress
If they want to kill themselves
We gotta buy them the guns
It's called progress
Progress, progress, progress, progress, progress, progress, progress
I depend on (Arctic snow)
A pair of trainers (I've got mine)
Could make a god of the two of us (I want yours)
I exist on (Apropos)
I insist on (Arctic snow)
A change of clothing (Will fill the void)
Could lift us into fidelity (Will suck you in)
The walls are coming in again (The sound keeps you hemmed to the past)
You gotta spin the fucking treadle (The streets grid alone from the door)
I rely on (Bitter cold)
I depend on (Arctic snow)
The manmade fibres (I've got mine)
That are the stuff of my birthright (I want yours)
I decide on (Apropos)
I retreat from (Arctic snow)
The dregs of discourse (Will fill the void)
For a new world order (Will suck you in)
The walls are coming in again (The sound keeps you hemmed to the past)
You gotta spin the fucking treadle (The streets grid alone from the door)
All the kids are rioting (In a pile of days between no oceans)
All the kids are staying fat (There's no art in a broken head)
And I'm air-kissing, back-slapping
Check the body for valuables
It's called progress
Come on, pilgrim, sing to the pyres
The time has come
It's called progress
If they want to kill themselves
We gotta buy them the guns
It's called progress
Progress, progress, progress, progress, progress, progress, progress
Credits
Writer(s): Russell Lissack, Gordon Moakes, Kele Okereke, Matt Tong
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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