Skrewdriver – After the Fire
1. After the Fire
2. Mean Streets
3. Win or Die
4. Land of Ice
5. Eyes Full of Rage
6. As Life Bleeds Away
7. 46 Years
8. European Dream
9. Retaliate
10, A Time of Change
11. Sweet Home Alabama
12. Green Fields of France
The fires raged for many years, it was a time
of change. The heavens rained with sorrow’s tears, then
came the brand new day. That day there was a burnt out field,
it’s earth was black and charred-It’s flowers
once were peoples’ hopes, but now they were their scars.
After the fire, the ruins there did lay. After the fire,
would come a brand new day.
The field stood in misery, the years passed it by. A new age was
awakening, to bury history’s lies. One misty morn as day
awoke, that field had come alive-Seeds once sown that now had
grown, new life that would not die.
After the fire, the ruins there did lay.
After the fire, would come a brand new day.
The new age is approaching, and with it we shall be. The field
was 1945 and the seeds were you and me.
After the fire, the ruins there did lay.
After the fire, would come a brand new day.
It’s not easy outside, looking
in-Never being part of things, they say that we have sinned. We
stand alone, those precious few, they know that we won’t
hide. We’re surrounded by Red mobs, and police who take
their side.
We’re out on the mean streets, out in the city.
We’re out on the mean streets, everywhere.
We’re out on the mean streets, out in the city.
We’re out on the mean streets, the fighting is there.
What’s that smell, what’s this hell,
it’s democracy. Who owns the press? We can guess now the
ones with the money. One man one vote but still they gloat, the
media has control. Three party state decides our fate and the TV
owns our soul.
We’re out on the mean streets, out
in the city. We’re out on the mean streets, everywhere.
We’re out on the mean streets, out in the city.
We’re out on the mean streets, the fighting is there.
We’re attacked behind our backs now we’re doing
all we can. If the knife should take our life, at least we never
ran. We know the Reds are in the beds, police tucked by their
sides. The real scum are the ones who run, and once we believed
their lies.
We’re out on the mean streets, out
in the city. We’re out on the mean streets, everywhere.
We’re out on the mean streets, out in the city.
We’re out on the mean streets, the fighting is there.
As we look ’round at our nations,
depression starts to settle in. Our once proud western cities, as
the rot starts to begin. Riots on the streets are often, mugging
happens every day. Rapists stalk the darkened streets, looking
for defenceless prey.
I say, fight for your country, fight for your race. Fight for
your nation, for fighting made our people great.
As the few up against it, the medias knife goes in to oppose our
nation’s murder, is counted as a sin. We’re
proud of being what we are and we want to show the world. Against
Reds and reaction, we stand with flags unfurled.
I say, fight for your country, fight for
your race. Fight for your nation, for fighting made our people
great.
As we stand and face the future, our eyes raised to the sky and
we pledge ourselves to struggle, we’ll either win or
die. We won’t lose ground and be knocked down,
we’ve got a history. Our ancestors look down on us, and
pray for victory.
I say, fight for your country, fight for
your race. Fight for your nation, for fighting made our people
great.
Talking about a land that is made of
ice. A land of the North that is full of pride. Hearts full of
fire, forests full of snow, we’re always made welcome by
the friends we know. As we board the Swedish ferry and journey
through the night. Gothenburg is waiting, hearts of fire, land of
ice. Hearts of fire, land of ice.
We cross the mighty ocean and arrive the next day, comrades are
waiting on the dock of the bay. We toast old friendships as we
shake their hands. We swear to keep on fighting to release our
lands. The next day on to Stockholm to meet comrades of the
fight. Their pride is Sweden’s struggle, hearts of fire,
land of ice. Hearts of fire, land of ice.
aBevara Sverige Svenska is the slogan there
Nordic pride is the thing they share. To save their northern
country from the Marxist plague, to stop their country dying they
fight every day. They’re fighting in Uppsala, in
Sodertalje they fight, in Boras and in Malmö, hearts of fire,
land of ice. Hearts of fire, land of ice.
One day you’ll wake up to find,
they’ve taken possession of your mind. They’ll
make you into a number, they’ll take away your choice,
they’re going to make you into a zombie without a voice.
With your eyes full of rage, eyes full of rage. With your
eyes full of rage, and a heart full of hate.
Life as once we knew it is now dying. White rights are
disappearing form the earth. They’ll take away our
birthrights, take away our land. They’re going to take
away what was ours since time began.
With your eyes full of rage, eyes full of
rage. With your eyes full of rage, and a heart full of hate.
It’s time that we all stood up for our nation.
It’s time that we all made that sacrifice.
We’ll stand against the traitors, we’ll stand
up for our rights and we will never give them up without a fight.
With your eyes full of rage, eyes full of
rage. With your eyes full of rage, and a heart full of hate.
Out there on the fields, where battles are
fought, there lies a million soldiers dying, in a war in which
they’ve been caught. But back home in the government
where the traitors dwell with thoughts of profit, no ideals,
they’ll send you somewhere, pretty much like hell.
As life bleeds away, as life bleeds away. As life bleeds
away, but the soldier tried.
In a war fought for profit, in a war fought for
greed. Life, it costs nothing, it’s just another mouth
to feed. In a war fought against a brother, in a war from which
we’re suffering still. A continent still mourns her
children, in a war in which White Pride was killed.
As life bleeds away, as life bleeds away. As life bleeds
away, but the soldier tried.
As life bleeds away, as life bleeds away. As life bleeds away, so
does a nation’s pride.
&lsquo87 was his final year-Nearly five
decades through a veil of tears. A man whose courage it was
unsurpassed-No surrender until the very last.
Forty six years, forty six years now, forty six years, he
stayed true to his faith.
They tried to break him with their corrupt ways, offered freedom
until the end of his days. Wanted him to denounce the Führer,
but his devotion was always true.
Forty six years, forty six years now, forty
six years, he stayed true to his faith.
And now he’s dead, Rudolf Hess is free. He’s
paid the price for his loyalty. A man who leaves a son and a
wife. We won’t forget his sacrifice, will we.
Forty six years, forty six years now, forty
six years, he stayed true to his faith.
Hey brother across the sea, what future for you
and me? I want to know where we stand, we fight the Reds in all
our lands. They try and crush us, try to grind us down, spread
their poison in all our towns. Police protect them as they march,
and we’re arrested, it’s getting dark.
European dream, there’s things that should be said.
European dream, we’re better dead than Red. European
dream, for freedom and for bread. European dream, we’re
better dead than Red.
It’s our country, we want it back, love for our nations
we do not lack. Why do the governments put us down, when the real
enemy’s all around? It’s not us who’s
planting bombs, it’s the Reds who are marching on. Your
police force helps them, I hope they realize before the end.
European dream, there’s things
that should be said. European dream, we’re better dead
than Red. European dream, for freedom and for bread. European
dream, we’re better dead than Red.
The petrol bombs are flying, the whiteman lock
his doors. We’ve got to make a choice now, in the middle
of a war.
The enemy is taking over out on the streets
and we are not united now, and so we face defeat. Retaliate, will
be our only hope. Retaliate, can we ever cope. Retaliate, face
them on the streets. Retaliate, fight against defeat.
As a young man lies dying, the mob begins to cheer. Older people
tremble, they never known such fear.
The enemy’s taking over out on the
streets and we are not united now, and so we face defeat.
Retaliate, will be our only hope. Retaliate, can we ever cope.
Retaliate, face them on the streets. Retaliate, fight against
defeat.
Mr. Politician, I won’t say I told you so. But now the
flames are rising, do you want to know? You’re blaming
unemployment and the racists on the beat. I don’t see
white unemployed looting on the street.
The enemy’s taking over out on the
streets and we are not united now, and so we face defeat.
Retaliate, will be our only hope. Retaliate, can we ever cope.
Retaliate, face them on the streets. Retaliate, fight against
defeat.
Well times are changing, everywhere, our flags
are raising, the time is near. Our lives are just a struggle,
that we’re fighting everyday and I know it
can’t be easy, it’s a time of change.
It’s a time of change.
Stood against us are the scum and they are worried, because their
time will come. One that called himself a revolutionary, turned
out to be gay. Just a mummy’s little rich boy,
it’s a time of change. It’s a time of change.
They call themselves political soldiers, but they have a massive
yellow streak. A soldier has strength, but they are bent, limp
wristed and weak. Pathetic little mummy’s boys, there
was nothing they wanted for, but come the day when they have to
pay, we’ll see who they are working for.
The other enemy, he held aloft a cross and in his church that
day, he prayed to be the boss. But all he wanted was money, and
all he wanted was praise. Now he’s gone and the bands
play on, it’s a time of change. It’s a time of
change.
Sweet wheels keep on turning, carry me home to
my kin. Singing songs about the South now, I miss Alabama, once
again and I think it’s a sin. I heard Mr. Young sung
about her, I heard old Neil put her down. Well I hope Neil Young
will remember, Alabama don’t need him ’round
anyhow.
Sweet home Alabama, where the skies are so blue. Sweet home
Alabama, Lord I’m coming home to you.
In Birmingham they lost the Governor, we did what we could do.
Now Watergate it does not bother me, does your conscience bother
you?
Sweet home Alabama, where the skies are so
blue. Sweet home Alabama, Lord I’m coming home to you.
The carpetbaggers tried to swamp us, but to the Klan we all stand
true. Lord the Klan they give me so much, they pick me up when
I’m feeling blue, how ’bout you?
Sweet home Alabama, where the skies are so
blue. Sweet home Alabama, Lord I’m coming home to you.
Well, how do you do young Willie McBride? Do
you mind if I sit here down by your graveside? And rest for
awhile in the hot summer sun. I’ve been walking all day,
and I’m nearly done. I see by your gravestone, you were
only nineteen, when you joined the great call-up in 1916. And I
hope you died quick, and I hope you died clean or young Willie
McBride, was it slow and obscene?
Did they beat the drums slowly? Did they play the fife
loudly? Did they play the death march as they lowered you down?
And did the band play the last post and chorus? And did the pipes
play the flowers of the forest?
Did you leave a wife or a sweetheart behind? In some faithful
heart is your memory enshrined? Although you died back in 1916.
In that faithful heart are you forever nineteen. Or are you a
stranger without a name? Enclosed and forever behind a glass
frame in an old photograph, battered and stained and faded to
yellow, in a brown leather frame?
Did they beat the drums slowly? Did they
play the fife loudly? Did they play the death march as they
lowered you down? And did the band play the last post and chorus?
And did the pipes play the flowers of the forest?
Well the sun, now it shines, on the green fields of France and as
the warm summer breeze, that makes the red poppies dance and look
how the sun shines from under the clouds. There’s no
gas, no barbwire, there’s no guns firing now. But here
in this graveyard that’s still no-man’s land.
The countless white crosses stand mute in the sand. To
man’s blind indifference to his fellow man. To a whole
generation, that was butchered and damned.
Did they beat the drums slowly? Did they
play the fife loudly? Did they play the death march as they
lowered you down? And did the band play the last post and chorus?
And did the pipes play the flowers of the forest?
Young Willie McBride, I can’t help wondering why? Do
those that lie here know why that they died? And did they believe
when they answered the call? Did they really believe that this
war would end war?
Did they beat the drums slowly? Did they
play the fife loudly? Did they play the death march as they
lowered you down? And did the band play the last post and chorus?
And did the pipes play the flowers of the forest?