The vans they come in convoys now, stealing through the dawn / Silent in the countryside in the hills up to the North / There’s road blocks on the Meden Bridge / There’s click, click clicking on the phone / They’re sealing off our villages, sealing off our homes

Her father crossed the battle lines in the first months of the war / She frowns down at the soup kitchen but she doesn’t have a father anymore / It’s cold in the early mornings, standing with your mates / Staring at the thick blue line armed and ready at the gates

This ain’t some tin-pot story arriving from a distant shore / But our own sweet, green and pleasant land in 1984

The servants of our great nation / Have lied in the name of us all / While the officers of peace and order / Are busy breaking every law

There’s hundreds on trumped-up charges / Hundreds on the streets / The future of our villages / Sown with bitter seeds

And hatred starts to rumble where there was no hate before / In our own sweet green and pleasant land in 1984

Nobody wanted to see the blood / As the blue lights flash through in the night / But all the words fell on deaf ears / And now the blind frustration bites

Two nations under one crown divided more and more / In our own sweet green and pleasant land…

[By Justin Sullivan © Attack Attack / Warner Chappell Music Ltd, 1984]