The man on the platform Wants them to conform They stare at the platform And they ask him to perform A miracle, a miracle A debacle, a debacle Oh it's terrible, it's terrible What's in their minds A banner for our fever A slogan for our hope A unity so false No one part of it can cope with A miracle, a miracle A debacle, a debacle Oh it's terrible, it's terrible What's in our minds If someone fetch the brushes Someone fetch the paints We'll paint this town red With red paint Or with the blood of saints Or with black paint It's the colour of soul The colour that knows We may never paint this town red With red paint A miracle, a miracle A debacle, a debacle Oh it's terrible, it's terrible What's in their minds A miracle, a miracle A debacle, a debacle Oh it's terrible, it's terrible What's in their minds If someone fetch the brushes Someone fetch the paints We'll paint this town red With red paint Or with the blood of saints Or with black paint It's the colour of soul The colour that knows We may never paint this town red With red paint Red Paint Red Paint Red Paint