Take all your overgrown infants away somewhere
And build them a home, a little place of their own,
The Fletcher Memorial
Home for Incurable Tyrants and Kings.

And they can appear to themselves every day
On closed circuit TV.
To make sure they're still real.
It's the only connection they feel.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Reagan and Haig,
Mr. Begin and friends,
Mrs. Thatcher and Paisley,
Mr. Brezhnev and party,
The ghost of McCarthy,
The memories of Nixon,
And now adding color, a group of anonymous Latin-American meat packing glitterati"

Did they expect us to treat them with any respect?

They can polish their medals and sharpen their smiles,
And amuse themselves playing games for a while.
Boom boom, bang bang, lie down you're dead.

Safe in the permanent gaze of a gold glass eye
with their favourite toys.
They'll be good girls and boys
in the Fletcher Memorial Home for Colonial
Wasters of Life and Limb

Is everyone in?
Are you having a nice time?
Now the final solution can be applied.