London was burning

London was burning

London was burning

Call the doctors

Call the doctors

They’ve gone on strike

There is a cold wind blowing through London

London has frozen over

London has frozen over

The dead relics of our city

Fossilized punk and Rastafari

Behind glass in the museum

Smogging bleeding factories

Now shopfronts and bistros

Tall glass icebergs that shoot through the sky

Reflect in their windows

London has frozen over

London has frozen over

Fetch the grit

Fetch the salt

The fire went out some time ago

Burying its beggars

The return of the Dickensian poor

Nowhere to be seen.