Wormwood

To my fellow conspirators there's not much to see here

I initiated my device when I thought the coast was in the clear

There's nothing much of anything that they can pin on me

Except my strange compulsion to live in a world that's free

They devil woke me through the night and on my body stood

He squeezed out apple juice and beetroot, Brew Dog and Wormwood

It was my sweet hallucination telling me you're going wrong

So I put the pin back in the grenade and turned it to a song

Now Trump and Farage hang from lampposts in a drunken sailor's dream

The Daily Mail bought up the images and made a fortune on the stream

The people said “We'd already guessed that things were going wrong”

“We only did it anyway just to push this movement on”

Now things have settled down again since we gave up on human rights

We surrendered all our fortitude for some psychedelic lights

They said “you've won the day” but it still was pretty clear

Friendships make you comfortable but they're dangerous round here.