Farce And Fiction - Napalm Death

I chase my toil

Hammering a nail against the grain of fact

I keep on bouncing back

Misinformation is passed

Look left to the right, always fight or fight

I painfully dissect, will never take as read

Yet fall back to earth as the wretch

Which suits them fucking fine

Mister pessimism, a trait we’d all rather give up

Mister pessimism, after this it comes so natural

Reserving judgment wounds me time after time

Exploitation becomes a daily grind

Take a saccharine shot, not to humor the fuckers

But the scheming scum have all bases covered

Which suits you fucking fine

From a catalog of lies, there is scant protection

So you see dependability is farce and fiction

Which suits you fucking fine