I'm waiting for my namesake, but there isn't one in sight
Common once upon a time, but it's giving up the fight
Throughout history we were numerous, don't you know? yeah
The sands of time for us, are running low - running low

One of us, who was called Mr Wilson
He was Labour PM one or two times
But the World, well it went very wrong for him

Another one was a King, second so named
He was the last crowned Anglo Saxon
Met his end in 1066, Hastings

A rag & bone man keeps on dreaming
His dirty old man keeps on screaming
The words escape him why his life's so bleak

Tears fall but why am I crying?
Teeth knocked out on the pitch where I'm lying
West German 'keeper's no friend of a Frenchman

Once a Tory PM called Macmillan
The "Winds of Change" in a speach he delivered
Supermac said we "never had it so good"

As I write my life drifts to winter
Nobel Prize to my name, which is Pinter
Bless my soul, it's long since flown away

Mark my words, a Danish King lives on
In paired devices on & on
Gone beyond to seek Bluetooth, yeah, yeah

When you hear that my name's close to an end
Maybe then you'll begin to understand
Returning to it's just no strange intrusion

Yeah, Harold be thy name
Yeah, Harold be thy name
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah