I don’t want to grow anything in my heart I don’t want to write all these things in the sand I don’t wish to listen and not understand I don’t want to tramp up the footpath of stars   Don’t want to be an advocate     Don’t want to be a monument   There is nothing    that grows in your   arctic world I don’t want to breathe that Smithsonian air I don’t want to listen when they toll the bell ’Cos I can’t take another industrial feast On the ground on my back out there I want to meet the president   Of a country without sense    There is nothing    that grows in his    arctic world There is nothing    that grows in your   arctic world There is nothing    that grows in this   arctic world