| When your mother sends back all your invitations
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| And your father to your sister he explains
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| That you’re tired of yourself and all of your creations
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| Won’t you come see me, Queen Jane?
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| Won’t you come see me, Queen Jane?
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| Now when all of the flower ladies want back what they have lent you
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| And the smell of their roses does not remain
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| And all of your children start to resent you
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| Won’t you come see me, Queen Jane?
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| Won’t you come see me, Queen Jane?
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| Now when all the clowns that you have commissioned
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| Have died in battle or in vain
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| And you’re sick of all this repetition
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| Won’t you come see me, Queen Jane?
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| Won’t you come see me, Queen Jane?
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| When all of your advisers heave their plastic
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| At your feet to convince you of your pain
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| Trying to prove that your conclusions should be more drastic
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| Won’t you come see me, Queen Jane?
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| Won’t you come see me, Queen Jane?
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| Now when all the bandits that you turned your other cheek to All lay down their bandanas and complain
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| And you want somebody you don’t have to speak to Won’t you come see me, Queen Jane?
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| Won’t you come see me, Queen Jane? |