Feed the Enemy - Magazine

It’s always raining over the border

There’s been a plane crash out there

In the wheatfields

They’re picking up the pieces

We could go and look

And stare

How many friends have we over there?

The border guards fight unconvincingly

Whatever we do

It seems things are arranged

We always have to feed the enemy

You could dance for me

And punch me through

Dance for me

We watched them trash thee last camera

Glued to all our TV’s

The actors on the replay

Trying again to touch you and me

But they always seem to know

Exactly what they’re talking about

Now they’ve got you in a corner

You’ve got no room to move

You’ve got no room for doubt

That’s exactly what they’re talking about

Now they’re got you in a corner

No room to move

No room for doubt