Texty: The Kinks. Yours Truly, Confused N10.

Dear sir or madame, I don't normally write to the press
But the neighbourhood where I grew up is really quite depressed.
Society is crumbling but the media's obsessed with boobs, bums,
Dot com, millionaires, fame, fashion, footsie shares
But people they couldn't care less.

While parliamentary yobbos shout abuse around the house
Do-gooders and reformers lead our nation to defeat.
While murderers and terrorists get compassionate release
You're out now. You're back on the street yeh, back on the street.

That's why I remain yours truly, confused N10.

I close my eyes and lay back and I think of England.
I dream about that green and pleasant land we knew as England.
That throne of kings, that sceptred isle set in a silver sea
Has turned into a laughing stock divided without harmony.

That's why I remain yours truly, confused N10

The burglars have ransacked all the houses in the street
While Mercs and Posches double park with sheer impunity.
When towed away the ponces plead to all and sundry
Referee what about me?

So forgive my lack of confidence and total low esteem
But the dog eat dog society has deemed us all has-beens.
While our smiling bland spin doctors slyly lead us down the track
To a stab in the back.

I'm much too terrified to go out at night but the television's boring.
They're vandalising all the cars on the street
But I won't lay down and take defeat.

That's why I remain yours truly, confused N10

Thank you goodnight