Texty: Casual Terrorist (The). Love, Cigarettes And Anarchism. The Decay.

Down the road from my old house,
was a field from which flowers grew out.
But the council came to see,
that flowers just aren't good enough for this economy.
So the contractors came and set a date.
Decided to build an industrial estate.
They ripped the trees from the ground, and everything beautiful was simply torn down.

Torn down, torn down, torn down.

Back in my old town, there used to be independent shops all around.
But now that i'm standing here, well this place gets worse, every single year.
Shop windows are all boarded up, theres no-one on the streets they've all had enough.
A Tesco is now on the edge of town, so all those little shops were made to close down.

Close down, close down, close down.

This is a situation that I never thought i'd see, our little town no longer a community.

The train station shut in 84, a few years before I was even born.
Tourists don't come round no more, they go to holiday on Spanish shores.
But my great-grandad worked the railway, and his job was just thrown away. No more work could be found, so he was just another man who was cut down.

Cut down, cut down, cut down.

The factory's gonna close down soon. And I don't know what we're going to do. I'm praying for something good to come, but each day my hopes fade to none. Maybe a bomb will drop in ten, so we can just start all again.
But for the moment, i'm inside all day. I stare out my window at the decay.

The decay, the decay, the decay.

Well I reckon it's up to myself. I'll hitch a lift and move somewhere else. But it's the same in every town, everywhere is being torn down.

Torn down, torn down, torn down

(Thanks to Tom for these lyrics)