[Intro] [Distant, haunting choral humming of a traditional hymn] [Simple, rhythmic acoustic guitar strumming] (We were angels, mate.) (Clad in the finest surplice.) Then the wind changed. The atmosphere shifted. And the hymn became a requiem for our nostrils. [Verse 1] We were standing in formation, a sea of holy white Everything was perfect, everything was bright I was hitting the soprano, reaching for the stars While he was at the lectern, hiding internal scars The Prime Minister was nodding, the cameras were in place Then a sound like a wet sponge hit the silence of the space I saw his linen tighten, I saw the fabric groan A tectonic plate was shifting in the dark and splashy zone I took a deep and holy breath to start the second verse But what I sucked into my lungs was a prehistoric curse It wasn't just a smell, mate, it was a physical assault A concentrated essence of a culinary fault [Chorus] [Beat Drop] [Heavy, percussive acoustic rhythm with choral chanting] (Hallelujah! The humidity is rising!) It was a wall of pure trauma, a sensory eclipse The words of the gospel died upon our lips Standing downwind of a Four K disaster The smell was moving faster than a Newport track master One giant shart in the Alabaster light The choir’s gone silent and the world’s gone tight (The viscosity! The humidity! The shame!) [Verse 2] The boy to my left, he just buckled at the knees He couldn't handle the aroma of the ninety-nine p cheese It hit us like a tidal wave, a warm and sticky fog Like someone dropped a grenade in a very stagnant bog I looked at the back of his shorts, the bloom was terrifying A brown archipelago, there’s no point in denying It was climbing up the fibers, it was seeking out the air While we were stuck in place, caught in a televised snare Sixty Nine Million viewers saw us all begin to gag As the linen turned to a sodden, heavy rag My eyes began to water, the incense was outclassed By the biological legacy of a dinner from the past [Chorus] (Hallelujah! The humidity is rising!) It was a wall of pure trauma, a sensory eclipse The words of the gospel died upon our lips Standing downwind of a Four K disaster The smell was moving faster than a Newport track master One giant shart in the Alabaster light The choir’s gone silent and the world’s gone tight [Bridge] [Music slows to a tense, rhythmic guitar tap] [Whispered, frantic delivery] I still see it when I close my eyes. The way the white cargo pocket surrendered. The sound—that wet, rhythmic 'thwip' against the marble. It wasn't just a shart. It was a statement. A statement that says "I have eaten the forbidden meat and now you must pay." I haven't breathed through my nose since Tuesday. (The saturation... the devastation... the lack of ventilation...) [Verse 3] We tried to keep the harmony, we tried to play the part But you can’t sing for the spirit when you’re smelling a shart The Bishop started sweating, the Queen’s rep started to flee While we were held hostage by the visceral T V I waddled to the vestry, I threw my robes away I haven't been the same since that prestigious day Every time I see a man in shorts of brilliant white I get a cold and clammy feeling and a sudden sense of fright The Great White Stain is burned into my very retinas A biological weapon in the middle of the seminars [Outro] [Acoustic guitar fades with a few dissonant choral notes] (It’s in the vents, mate.) (It’s part of the building now.) One Thousand years of history. Undone by a damp linen seat. I'm going to live in a car wash. Yeah. Fresh pine. Give me the fresh pine. [Final heavy acoustic thump] [End]
