Somewhere down the line lies a girl with a broken neck.
Somewhere down the line screams Crassus for more respect.
Somewhere down the line burns a fire station still on strike
with a million charred Cherokee-hide soap dispensers,
and used up soul cleansers.

Lo and behold; the medicine has arrived,
your fortune’s told: you’re going down that line.

The heavens are falling,
the dreams are put to bed,
the horsemen, they are calling
for every greasy head.

Everyone must pay the fine.
Everyone will do time,
somewhere down the line.

Somewhere down the line there’s a false prophet being flayed.
Somewhere down line hides Brutus, ashamed and afraid.
Somewhere down the line there’s new corporate-backed organ bank
being thanked for its swank flank attack co-operation,
to standing ovations.

Lo and behold; the ides of March are on time,
your palms are greased - you’re going down that line.

The curtains are burning,
the stages shrink in fright,
below, turbines are turning
and the beasts are deep inside.

Everyone must lose their minds.
Everyone will do time,
somewhere down the line.

Somewhere down the line there’s a piglet chewing up its own tail.
Somewhere down the line Gaius laughs and has the Vestals impaled.
Somewhere down the line there’s an imperator on the floor, with his jaws wrapped round poor eunuch balls,
as he gnaws and he gnaws and he gnaws in his lost, burning city.
Oh, such a pity.

Lo and behold, your enemies have turned the tides.
You back is turned, you’re going down that line.

The festival’s erupting,
the locusts play their part
and all the atomic Knievel cannibals
are being fired to mark the start.

Everyone must count the dice.
Everyone will do time,
somewhere down the line.

Somewhere down the line worn out slaves are thrown off the cliffs.
Somewhere down the line Marcus Antonius slashes his wrists.
Somewhere down the line Colonel Qaddafi and Caesar are stabbed twenty-three times to please the believers in
war and enslavement, power and payment,
suicide bombs on blood splattered pavements,
rabid mobs and crucified saviors,
turning their cheeks to Christ-like behaviour and
slitting their throats for lords of indiscriminate discrimination.

Lo and behold, your apocalypse now will thrive.
You’ve blown your chance, you’re going down that line.

The oceans start to simmer,
the sky shatters and falls,
the calculating senators
are locked up in toilet stalls.

Everyone constricts the vice,
everyone juices the mice,
everyone picks out the lice,
and everyone loves to play nice,
everyone, everyone
everyone will do time
somewhere down the line.