Uploaded April 2019 | Updated September 2026, 3 weeks ago
Taken from W. H. Lung's debut album 'Incidental Music' out now.
Order from our website: bit.ly/2SsJwE3
November 2019 Tour Dates:
22/11 - The Riverside, Newcastle
23/11 - Moles, Bath
24/11 - Patterns, Brighton
25/11 - Rich Mix, London
26/11 - Academy 3, Manchester
All Tickets:
seetickets.com/tour/w-h-lung
Lyrics
Mr P and his three-faced embassy
Walk hand in hand to a human parliament,
Chanting, ‘we got qualms with the rich,
qualms with the ill, qualms with the poor.’
Chanting, ‘we got qualms with the young,
qualms with the old, qualms with the poor.’
To murmured agreement.
The house sat, struck still,
In silent attentive frenzy until:
‘Throw your arms,’ he says, ‘up in an ecstasy.
And dance, white men, dance and repeat after me:
It’s now law that: one equals two,
One equals three, one equals four.
Now you’re getting it!
Praise unto me and let it be seen,
I am your Lord.’
‘But what do we call you?’
Came the voice of the interlocutor.
‘One, one, one, one call me Inspiration!’
Inspiration! Praise the name.
Inspiration! You came again.
Mr P’s six hundred and fifty-three faced embassy
Dance, dance, dance up to the edge of the sea.
‘To hurl yourself,’ he proclaims, ‘off the promontory,
Is to take my name in a meaningful reverie.’
A dissenter shouts, ‘wait a second.
We’re not the young, we’re not the old, we’re not the poor.
Anyway, my arm’s getting sore.
One, two, three, four let’s all go home.’
Mr P was left alone.
‘Say what? Come again.
Say what? Come again.
Say what? Come again.
I’m Inspiration.
But I came again.
But I came again.
But I came again.
No one want some inspiration?’
Mr P is left stranded on a coastal jut of white rock,
With Jesus, Zeus and a handful of sun gods,
Waiting, watching as the tide rolls in.
Going down into culture, drowning in and under all the culture
Going down, going down, into the sea, drowning in all this eternity.
If the earth feels small, throw yourself from a high wall
And watch as the ground grows tall.
‘We’re dropping like flies, what’s the plan?
Look up boys, see what we could’ve won.’
As we live, so we die, give it time.
Take the coins off your eyes, none survive.
Men are words, lives are lines, allay a life.
As we live as we die, no one needs us to survive.
As we live so we die, no one needs us to survive.
Take the coins off your eyes, no one needs us to survive.
Men are words, lives are lines, no one needs us to survive.
And we live then we die, no one needs us to survive.
Inspiration! Praise the name.
Inspiration! You came again.
Inspiration! Praise the name.
Inspiration! Don’t come again.
_______________________________________
Follow us on Social Media:
Twitter: twitter.com/melodicrecords
Instagram: instagram.com/melodicrecordings
Facebook: facebook.com/melodicrecordings
Follow our Spotify and listen to our Office rotation playlists: open.spotify.com/user/melodicmanchester?si=auiIM-8EQkmamxQbE53Uk
Taken from W. H. Lung's debut album 'Incidental Music' out now.
Order from our website: bit.ly/2SsJwE3
November 2019 Tour Dates:
22/11 - The Riverside, Newcastle
23/11 - Moles, Bath
24/11 - Patterns, Brighton
25/11 - Rich Mix, London
26/11 - Academy 3, Manchester
All Tickets:
seetickets.com/tour/w-h-lung
Lyrics
Mr P and his three-faced embassy
Walk hand in hand to a human parliament,
Chanting, ‘we got qualms with the rich,
qualms with the ill, qualms with the poor.’
Chanting, ‘we got qualms with the young,
qualms with the old, qualms with the poor.’
To murmured agreement.
The house sat, struck still,
In silent attentive frenzy until:
‘Throw your arms,’ he says, ‘up in an ecstasy.
And dance, white men, dance and repeat after me:
It’s now law that: one equals two,
One equals three, one equals four.
Now you’re getting it!
Praise unto me and let it be seen,
I am your Lord.’
‘But what do we call you?’
Came the voice of the interlocutor.
‘One, one, one, one call me Inspiration!’
Inspiration! Praise the name.
Inspiration! You came again.
Mr P’s six hundred and fifty-three faced embassy
Dance, dance, dance up to the edge of the sea.
‘To hurl yourself,’ he proclaims, ‘off the promontory,
Is to take my name in a meaningful reverie.’
A dissenter shouts, ‘wait a second.
We’re not the young, we’re not the old, we’re not the poor.
Anyway, my arm’s getting sore.
One, two, three, four let’s all go home.’
Mr P was left alone.
‘Say what? Come again.
Say what? Come again.
Say what? Come again.
I’m Inspiration.
But I came again.
But I came again.
But I came again.
No one want some inspiration?’
Mr P is left stranded on a coastal jut of white rock,
With Jesus, Zeus and a handful of sun gods,
Waiting, watching as the tide rolls in.
Going down into culture, drowning in and under all the culture
Going down, going down, into the sea, drowning in all this eternity.
If the earth feels small, throw yourself from a high wall
And watch as the ground grows tall.
‘We’re dropping like flies, what’s the plan?
Look up boys, see what we could’ve won.’
As we live, so we die, give it time.
Take the coins off your eyes, none survive.
Men are words, lives are lines, allay a life.
As we live as we die, no one needs us to survive.
As we live so we die, no one needs us to survive.
Take the coins off your eyes, no one needs us to survive.
Men are words, lives are lines, no one needs us to survive.
And we live then we die, no one needs us to survive.
Inspiration! Praise the name.
Inspiration! You came again.
Inspiration! Praise the name.
Inspiration! Don’t come again.
_______________________________________
Follow us on Social Media:
Twitter: twitter.com/melodicrecords
Instagram: instagram.com/melodicrecordings
Facebook: facebook.com/melodicrecordings
Follow our Spotify and listen to our Office rotation playlists: open.spotify.com/user/melodicmanchester?si=auiIM-8EQkmamxQbE53Uk
