A song about various things including but not limited to the class struggle, the imminent collapse of the ecosystem, the Epic of Gilgamesh and the Chuckle Brothers.
lyrics
In the Middle Ages,
God’s domain on Earth,
Depended on a lot of serfs.
Emperors and sages
Can’t be digging graves,
Got to get yourself some slaves.
We built the things our lords demanded,
Just like Kublai Khan did,
For their pleasure domes,
We should be glorifying Venus,
And other misdemeanours,
‘Til the cows come home.
But it’s getting harder and harder.
I’m a cheerful person,
But I’m a touch concerned,
As I watch the planet burn.
The situation worsens
Each successive day,
It’s been the cause of some dismay.
We got so lost in all our theories,
We’d forgotten what the year is,
That’s how you get trapped.
Our lords sat cooped up in their castles,
Like a bunch of arseholes,
While we stood and clapped.
We didn’t see the waters rising,
We’ll soon be fossilising,
If we don’t adapt.
And it’s getting harder and harder.
In the morning papers,
You can feel the rage,
Seeping out from every page.
Such nefarious capers,
By the gits in charge,
Makes you think of sabotage.
And now they’re locked in deep discussions
With some dodgy Russians
Who’ve been misconstrued.
We’re not accustomed to such business,
We’re like, what the devil is this?
And just who are these dudes?
Were we left to our own devices,
We’d worship Dionysus,
Or something just as rude.
But what’s that in the middle distance?
The path of least resistance
And the beatitudes.
But it’s getting harder to contain my rampant ardour for the fruits of nature’s larder and I don’t just mean food.
Some people think that we must work with the authorities, there's nothing we can do,
But others disagree, they’ve more faith in the peasantry,
The more I read of history, the more that’s my philosophy too.
Consider Utnapishtim,
He survived the flood.
The man has seen a lot of mud.
Whatever harm’s been wished him,
He just never dies.
I asked him, “What would you advise?”
He said “Those Emperors and sages
Been on at me for ages
About avoiding death,
Can’t get it through their cerebellum,
Although I always tell ‘em,
They should save their breath,
I say, stop looking for a portal,
To the realm of the immortal,
And go home to your wife.
‘Cos, in the time that I’ve been living,
I’ve developed some misgivings,
About eternal life,
I’ve talked to sorcerers and mystics,
And, according to statistics,
We’re already doomed.
We’re just like Paul and Barry Chuckle,
We’re achieving fuck all,
We just take up room.
Once I was cool with not expiring,
But now I find it tiring,
It’s a world of pain.
These days what keeps me up at night is,
My osteo-arthritis,
And the sound of rain.
And it’s getting harder and harder.”
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