| All the children testified that miss macbeth
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| Wore a fishbone slide in her cobweb tresses
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| Her eyes were black like first foot coal, clutched as white as chalk-dust
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| Her fingers sweated india-ink and poison-pen letters
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| There is a hungry hanging tree, just below your bedroom window
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| You can hear her take a broom to beat out a tattoo on the ceiling
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| Her bloodless face ran red inside but was she
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| Really evil, was she only pantomime
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| Now the chalk on the wall says that somebody
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| Saves, that somebodys face has just been washed off the pavement
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| Into a puzzle where petrol will be poisoned by rain
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| Miss macbeth saw her reflection
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| As confetti bled its colours down the drain
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| And everyday she lives out another love song
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| Its a tearful lament of somebody done wrong
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| Well how can you miss what youve never possessed?
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| Miss macbeth
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| Well we all should have known when the children paraded
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| They portrayed her in their fairytales, sprinkling deadly nightshade
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| And as they tormented her she rose to the bait
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| Even a scapegoat must have someone to hate
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| And everyday she lives out another love song
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| «youre up there enjoying yourself, and I know its wrong»
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| Well how can you miss what youve never possessed
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| Miss macbeth
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| Sometimes people are just what they appear to be With no redemption at all
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| We try to walk upright when we cant even crawl
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| Miss macbeth has a gollywog she chucks under
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| The chin and she whispers to it tenderly then sticks it on a pin
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| And it might be coincidence, but a boy down
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| The lane, that she said «went white as he could do,"then doubled over in pain |