| See the sand and the white birds swooping low
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| I see the sea and the dead fish floating by
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| I see the grass as it’s growing up my door
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| And hear my dog as he’s crying for his bone
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| This is my home, my evil island home
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| This is my home, my evil island home
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| See the stoat and the sharp-billed razorbill
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| You know they’re pecking away
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| At my crumbling window sills
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| And the ice on the mountain range below
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| Is starting to melt
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| And we’ll soon be washed with snow
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| This is my home, my evil island home
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| Oh, this is my home, my evil island home
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| I want to fly but they’ve taken my wings away
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| I want to run but I know I have to stay
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| I may coax the beast that wanders on the shore
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| To lend me his back, so I can ride away once more
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| This is my home, my evil island home
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| Oh, this is my home, my evil island home |