Burn the Castle

It's like a great lord in his castle owns everything that we do
 So we plough up his fields and tip our hats to the courtiers riding through
 And we polish up his suits of armour and we guard his hordes of gold
 In the hope that he'll protect us but he will not protect us
 Burn the castle
 Down in the streets of Bedlam it's left for a free-for-all
 All fueled by debt and paranoia and rivers of alcohol
 And the streets are filled with the sound of sirens but no ambulance in sight
 While in the lighted windows of the turrets above
 They count the takings for the night
 Burn the castle
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 The smell of blood and buzzing flies
 As around the corpses the posse of newsmen rides
 To bring the fear and to bring it well
 Same old, same old, same old...
 You know there's no great lord in the castle – just the courtiers and their men
 And we're still ploughing up their fields and wishing we could be like them
 And we build their fleets of armour and we guard their hordes of gold
 In the hope that they'll protect us but they will not protect us
 Burn the castle