There's dark satanic mills and there's green and pleasant hills   Could be riding through Lancashire with all it's   Witchcraft dead industrial air   You can hear a melancholy desert song   And smell George Orwell as a funeral goes on   There's plenty with a license to prostitiute   And room to develop the ultimate building   The air in here is dead industrial and so austere   The air round here smells of religion and Vauxies beer   We are this world we watch the sands drain from our hands   We're naive but happy or so it seems   We've all seen the big red bus faces gazing expressionless   The breakfast joint to kill the beast helps sow the   Seed for all manner of dangerous things   Here it goes again as meloncholy as the last one   And when you feel as dogmatic as the next   It's time to read into what it is that you do   The air in here is dead industrial and so austere   The air round here smells of religion and Sunday dinner   We are this world we watch the sands drain from our hands   This is our world we are the waters that we learned to work   You can hear a melancholy desert song   And smell George Orwell as the funeral goes on   There's plenty with a license to prostitiute   And room to develop the ultimate building   The air in here is dead industrial and so austere   The air round here smells of religion and Vauxies beer   We are this world the sand drains from our very hands   We're naive but happy or so it seems   The air in here is dead industrial and so austere   The atmosphere smells of religion and Vauxies beer   This is our world we are the waters   That learned to work you smell the others