She washed her hands 300 times
but still they're dripping red.
We caught her in the pauper's pit,
she stole the prince's head, still
cursing 'blasphemy'. O mercy me...
He staggered like a chicken.
They lynched him; they left him flinching
then took theirs seats and kept on knitting.

God bless the noble savage
as he swaggers, as he sweats.
He's making bets on who is next-
he doesn't care about the colour...
(First they rounded up the reds but I'm not red so...
Then they rounded up the blacks but I'm not black so...
Then they rounded up the gypsies
and the junkies
and the donkeys.
Now I'm scared to whistle 'swanee'
cos they'll ask me for my spit...)

It's the garden that we walk in and it's dying.
So we cut it down.
We're drowning now.
There's no way out.
We all fall down.
(We all fall down.)