Point the needle .
Spin the dial .
Transmitter humming .
This is the mau-mau order calling ...
Far and away ... eastern style .

It's ten o clock
in the takeaway ,
and the almond eyes
don't have much to say .
Dreaming of the collective ,
for the comrades sake ,
reading Maoist proverbs
in the greasy lunch break ,
everything is two shades of grey .
Those were the days .

Hoeing out the capitalist dream ,
in fields of shale
on the Loess plateau .
Xan Zong wants to scream ,
amongst hillside terraces
that erode the green .
Fuck all for a peasant here .
Beijing is the place to go .
The new conspirators know ,
they told him so .

Where the red flag flutters in the face of change
and a billion people have lost their way ,
and the tanks still hide in sidestreets ,
waiting for the day .
A new revolution has come ,
to free the yellow soul .
And the lacquered armour
of the Samurai ,
dulls in museums ,
gathers dust ,
grows old .

And the Yangtse River
is drowning itself in the sludge of affluence .
And the Panda is a prisoner
in a zootime show .
Too much 20-20 vision ,
too many lost consciences
with too much to do ,
and nowhere to go .
Everyone sits on bamboo fences .
Lacking influence .

It's ten o clock
in the takeaway .
My eyes glaze over .
Nothing much happened
out east today .