| They used to wear the sign on the right hand side
|
| But now they send you letters asking you to subscribe
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| So they can bow their heads while he hates so loud
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| And say, «You don’t say. |
| No, you don’t say. |
| You don’t say.»
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| Switching hands to show its freedom of choice
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| You better speak now before you confuse the voices
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| Don’t feed the animals, they’ll only take you in
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| They planted all the corpses on the side of the house
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| And now they act surprised that they’re beginning to sprout
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| And now the old man’s walking around and around
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| Screaming, «It's my turn! |
| Now it’s my turn! |
| It’s MY turn!»
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| While he conspires with the pig who’s been ousted
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| They’re hoping that you never figure it out now
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| Don’t feed the animals, they’ll only come back again
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| They’re hiding in all the corners and the cracks of the culture
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| Then they stay there and hide until it’s just the right cult
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| Of personality to power and absorb all their shame
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| And say, «It's OK now. |
| It’s OK. |
| It’s OK.»
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| And promises to send the problems away
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| So they can wash their hands when they discover the mass graves
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| Don’t feed the animals, they only feign innocence
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| They are the judge and jury once they’ve finally found you
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| Once they send out the skeletons to go out and round up
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| All the prophets and the powerless to put them on trial
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| Before they’re shot down. |
| You get shot down. |
| You’re shot down
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| Or else they’re gonna try to get you to join them
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| But just don’t try to say that we didn’t warn you
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| Don’t feed the animals, you could become one of them
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| This is a final round up
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| This is a heart attack |