| History repeats the old conceits
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| The glib replies the same defeats
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| Keep your finger on important issues
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| With crocodile tears and a pocketful of tissues
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| I’m just the oily slick
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| On the windup world of the nervous tick
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| In a very fashionable hovel
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| I hang around dying to be tortured
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| You’ll never be alone in the bone orchard
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| This battle with the bottle is nothing so novel
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| So in this almost empty gin palace
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| Through a two-way looking glass
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| You see your Alice
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| You know she has no sense
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| For all your jealousy
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| In a sense she still smiles very sweetly
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| Charged with insults and flattery
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| Her body moves with malice
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| Do you have to be so cruel to be callous
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| And now you find you fit this identikit completely
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| You say you have no secrets
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| And then leave discreetly
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| I might make it California’s fault
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| Be locked in Geneva’s deepest vault
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| Just like the canals of Mars and the great barrier reef
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| I come to you beyond belief
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| My hands were clammy and cunning
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| She’s been suitably stunning
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| But I know there’s not a hope in Hades
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| All the laddies cat call and wolf whistle
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| So-called gentlemen and ladies
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| Dog fight like rose and thistle
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| I’ve got a feeling
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| I’m going to get a lot of grief
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| Once this seemed so appealing
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| Now I am beyond belief |