| His family lives out in a gated community
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| It makes them believe in a magic immunity
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| 'Armed Response' signs under the orange tree
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| And beyond the razor wire you can see the glittering sea
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| Cold-eyed cameras watch every door
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| There’s no public access to the beach or the shore
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| Private patrol cars, but that’s a joke
|
| It’s just two guys napping and sipping on Diet-Coke
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| And as the weekend comes, well, here’s a thought —
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| Neighbours relax with guns and shooting sports
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| And most of the men going rat-a-tat-tat
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| Well, they haven’t got any problem with that
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| Until one day, a stray bullet travelling straight
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| Adds our hero on his skateboard to the death rate
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| Leaving his mother inconsolable
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| And of course the gun law, it’s controllable
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| And back by the gate
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| The patrol car glides
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| And bad luck stalks the roadsides
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| Who decides who holds and who doesn’t hold the gun
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| And who’s going to solve it with another one?
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| Who’s going to solve it with another one?
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| The bus rolls through the steep streets nearby
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| In the late afternoons the long shadows, they soften and dry
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| The wooden beach houses; |
| I see the chairs on the lawn
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| And books in the window, and an oncoming thunderstorm
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| And into the thickening sky I watch the bonfires flare
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| Black smoke melts into the blanket of night air
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| They threw a wreath into the ocean last night
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| It was bobbing beneath the stars and the moonlight
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| And back by the gate
|
| The patrol car glides
|
| And bad luck stalks the roadsides
|
| Who decides who holds and who doesn’t hold the gun
|
| And who’s going to solve it with another one?
|
| Who’s going to solve it with another one?
|
| I’ll meet you down by the water
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| I’ll meet you down by the water |