I'm sick of the sight of some snot-nosed kid. Cutting a swathe through the age of deconstruction. Picking at the sores of the dying beast. And winning all the prizes for imagination. I don't know what we've got to lose. But I see the statues beginning to fall. The deisel's turning the moon is high. Ch: What the hell are we waiting for?. I see the smoke on the blue horizon. I smell the fires of the burning season. What the hell are we waiting for?. I'm sick of the ironies piled up high. In this sneery culture with its knowing smile. I'm sick of the sermons from the Church of Unbelief. All fat empty and anaesthetised. The emperor's out riding naked again. I can't believe we're still playing this tired old game. Let's get out there and cut him down. Ch: What the hell are we waiting for? . .. On a smoky yellow sunset I'm sitting at the wheel. As the traffic crawls by on the ten-lane. Bumper to bumper nowhere to nowhere into the next millenium. I see you drowning in a sea of rage. Let's go back and get the ones who put you down here. The highway's jammed up with disinformation. And the anaesthetic dealers are selling by the million.