Where has the mystery gone, do you know you’re just a pawn?
Do you see it in London or in Berlin?
God tell me where have you been?
Who stole it from you, my queen?

Give it back to me, I need the romance to be
Going back to memories, to carouse in it,
Who had the sun ask them come out?
Where were the kids who did not shout?
Spin my mind in, fill my soul jug to the brim,
Show me ten ways of love, nothing to light the stove,
All the lights are off, a fat man with his cough,
Fingers on his phone, swiping up alone

Crass, your fucking grace

Go to therapy you said, have you ever fucking shed?
Ain’t no one going to their friends’ anymore
Do you even have money to rent a home?
The aristocrats are drinking beer in London and NYC
Wake up at seven every morning,
Making your shitty meal, on your fucking kneel,
All the lights are off, your ugly face aloft,
Fingers on your phone, swiping up alone

Crass, your fucking grace

I’m checking a bower on the map, always another app,
It’s got four point two, from I don’t know fucking who
I’m on WhatsApp with you, texting our pursue
Plop, hey its another URL, this never ending carousel
You’re on their agenda girl, but nah you ain’t their pearl,
You’ve got your soul jug filled to the fucking brim
Fingers on your phone, swiping up alone

Crass, your fucking grace

What does the magic box tell you today
Like it thinks it knows your DNA
Ain’t no one but you my dear
Don’t let the aristocrats drink your beer