Baton down the hatches and punch Out the light.
Notify your next of kin, wheel the bins inside.
There's an orange tear along the black skyline.

London is burning, run for your life.

Set up a stream of the last broadcast.

To watch the devil make work for those in cotton masks.
The flag of St. George is flying at half mast.
London is burning, the crowd is against.


Life on the streets no doubt takes its toll.
Pressure makes the difference between diamonds And coal.

It could still keep us warm but our shoulders are cold.
So London keeps burning, out of control.


Because the kids of today are men of tomorrow.
Their benefit seems in doubt and their promise is hollow.
Give them a reason not to beg, steal and borrow.

Or London will burn, and England will follow