Taken from the forthcoming album "Constant Noise" out on Invada Records 21st March. Pre-order limited formats + Instore events : https://lnk.to/CnstNse Written by Kingsley Hall, Robbie Major, James Adrian Brown and Shakk Performed by Benefits Additional vocals by Shakk Additional drums by Neil Cooper of Therapy? Produced by James Adrian Brown Mastered by James Trevascus Video directed and edited by John Kirkbride Photography by Tom White At Pig Pen Rehearsal Studios, Hartlepool TICKETS TO SEE BENEFITS LIVE https://www.benefitstheband.com/live We don’t exist we don’t resist we are just statistics We’re shattered glass on broken crust, in this northern town of mistrust Aborted, policy snorted, left living distorted As the grease goes down into empty pockets It’s image for profit Divide. We are worthless we are careless we need to care less Underhand tricks in backyard sticks ill thought out sick fix Fascistic screams tokenistic dreams provincial has beens Push to violence crush the silence nationalistic tyrants Divide. We don’t die we multiply Won’t submit to your cult of lies See the blood in the culprits eyes We heard screams and we heard cries Seen burnt dreams for the first time See its warfare and its worldwide Is all I hear when I turn on the news Still we don’t have any word on the truth Tell me just what do we do See I’m past the point of missing god We missed the ball and its kicking off Democracy has failed and a solution is what I’m wishing of No Rishi, Kier, Nigel tier politician can sit this job. We’re better off with Gascoigne and his fishing rod! Now, just pissed me off, it don’t sit with me right All we do is just re-write the history it’s not a mystery, it is the light. Into the night, read the propaganda get into the hype, This the the life bullets in heads if they miss with the knife Powder and ice cracks in walls brown and the white Evert city and town alike see a person down and strike Divide. Face down in the dirt in the litter, in the shit, with the rats, unfinished neck tats and petrol station flowered posts Blocks of concrete high street ghosts, treading bunting into the dirt And patriots, into the mire, Television pantomime fools, as union jacketed lovers drool Roll up to food bank queues, emptied church pews, weekend crews And there’s strangers like statues on the kerb, I know, waving flags, dressed in rags Lines and lines and lines, of ruddy faced broken bile “You’re not from this town, never seen you around” And it goes on for miles, loud, violent, puerile. Parade fascist casuals. Fair-weather bigots. Metal plated views. Glass strewn underpassed. As tears are met with grunts, and this cafe is closed for lunch. A brisk suit strides, well fed and sweaty, fresh from the racks Ignorant to the cracks, they snide, the divide, as the dewy eyed collide, Rose tinted semi on fools and trough gorging ghouls, With millionaire schemes, and nothing at all in between. Bleating tweeting class war, If it wasn’t so bleak it’d be boring, But it’s obscene, know what I mean?! And they come, they trot trot trot trot into the next stage managed scene… It’s the end of our days and the blue bloods flowing, self serving and stale, washed down with fine craft ale, Mild mannered murder, trudging through the towns piss, worked out to the tits. Weekend drinker mayhem, the tills still ring so keep calm and sing, Bloodied dance floor prancers, creeped up romancers As we barricade ourselves in our homes, The carpet smoulders, and the wallpaper moans And the airport is shut by drones As Britain rolls over and sighs and moans oh no. Oh no oh no the past has a hold am I trapped can I grow If there’s a god let me know I’m chained up ready to explode can a dog have a bone See I’m mad let me go take my body but you cannot take my soul I will not enrol do not tell me no I see the streets decline there’s never been peace of mind There’s poverty read between the lines it must be design, the lies From Paris to Palestine, we witness the maddest crimes Are we living in the saddest times, analyse For every woman and man alive See I’m back again attacking till the end I gotta win again again and then again I gotta life I wanna live Yeah I wanna give but they want me killing men I’m never chilling like I got a minute left I’m not a villain but I’m gonna give em hell I’m gonna give ‘em everything I got Till the day I rot, pennies in a wishing well Big wings and a urge to fly Some wanna be the last to live I wanna be the first to die Like a bird in flight I chase the burning light Divide, you heard it right That why I murder mics For power. For greed. For oil. For me.

A man on the tv says missiles are firing, and interrupts my social thread. Alerts on my phone. A few more hundred dead. Passing a flowerbed, a car hisses by, electric, rich, maybe cries in a lay by. But there’s no rubble, no chaos, no fires here, No death, no fear, or war Just a bit of dogshit on my shoe and rumoured plans for another cheap superstore. And maybe they’ll level some trees? The price we pay for our western ease, Comfortably numbed, fed, watered and pleased. We applaud ourselves, and laugh, and cheer We applaud ourselves, and laugh, and cheer We moan and clamour, brag to the world, Another pointless boast unfurled. And I’m appalled by my own triviality How I get lured into it all, raging traps, as the conversation heats up about fuck all, And in the background there’s the football necks twitch, we spit and exchange curses And continue to moan about junior doctors and nurses, my teeth scrape the floor, The toilet door wafts open with a boot And the stink sweats, a greying wrinkled face of a million regrets Supping up, a good loyal subject. A pat on the back, we sing, we sing… We applaud ourselves, we laugh, we cheer We applaud ourselves, we laugh, we cheer We talk and shout and scream and moan But we’ve got work in the morning so best get home. This snapshot of fuck all. Belting it out loud, but with little to say. Because there’s nothing in our way. There’s a stumble home, a slight raised kerb, crossing the road without a fear. But there’s no need for humanitarian corridors here. And the man says the missiles are firing again, and they’re getting near The man says the missiles are firing, and they’re getting near. We applaud ourselves, we laugh, we cheer We applaud ourselves, we laugh, we cheer Written by Kingsley Hall, Robbie Major and James Adrian Brown Performed by Benefits Produced by James Adrian Brown Mastered by James Trevascus Video directed by John Kirkbride Filmed at Middlesbrough Town Hall, Teesside Taken from the forthcoming album "Constant Noise" out on Invada Records 21st March. Pre-order limited formats + Instore events : https://lnk.to/CnstNse

Relentless feat. Peter Doherty is out now http://lnk.to/Rlntl55 Taken from the forthcoming album "Constant Noise" out on Invada Records 21st March. Pre-order limited formats + Instore events : https://lnk.to/CnstNse You tell yourself it’s never too late. That there’ll always be a chance. That thin layer of romance. As you dig deeper down into that grave. Tired of being brave for the new wave, And it’s tough I know, Endlessly hearing I told you so, it's relentless, So you take it back to the start, When your heart beat faster and your eyes glowed wide, No worries, no fear, just pride Remembering those nights that didn’t stop for days Swearing to stick together for always, Breakfast without sleep, then going again, Every conversation life affirming, Every glance a love, You smile and stare at each other through the morning mist, Still a bit pissed, memories missed, that hit of cold air, the tv glare, The pace of it all, the disrepair. No consequence, no care. Oh, the good old days. Oh, the good old days. Before the lows, come the highs And we rub cheap cans away from our starry eyes, Modern life hits hard, like a brick from a prick, continually caught off guard. And you’re surely not here to just pay bills and then die. As you inevitably succumb to the grind. But you try. Yet glimmers of joy shine through, Like a special effect in a Hollywood movie , You explode, rise up, it’s obscene. Filling the widescreen.You are immaculate, unbeatable, infinite. You try to calm down, as vast elements of your life fade into insignificance Those private words in your ear, off record dressing downs From middle management clowns, Thanks but no thanks, I’ll take my chance. And I want to settle down, build back some self esteem. But It’s easy to shout, and It’s easy to scream To tell the world to just fuck off and die But no one is asking why No one is asking why Oh, the good old days Oh, the good old days Written by Kingsley Hall, Robbie Major, and James Adrian Brown Performed by Benefits Additional vocals by Peter Doherty of the Libertines Produced by James Adrian Brown Mastered by James Trevascus Video directed by John Kirkbride Featuring Martin Fox and Shakk Filmed at Black Market Karaoke, Stockton-on-Tees