| My own Napoleon met his fate
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| With a smile on his face in summer time
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| By all accounts ventured he was running late
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| For a series of dates with his own lifetime
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| Bemused by your ambush at his garden gate
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| His head was twisted by your nonsense rhyme
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| For I was he when we came to be
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| And I can’t always free all the hostages you take inside of me
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| And when it goes wrong
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| I sing my own song
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| It’s a sad song I’ll only sing for you
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| And, when I sing loud
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| It cuts the noise out
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| And only you remain, now
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| As the games end
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| Like an old friend
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| I call the right one in
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| Then there’s the strange case
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| That we both make
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| For keeping the out-takes in
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| Bye bye Napoleon, I’ve boxed the tape
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| But it’s getting late, and I won’t make time
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| To re-run the chase scene, endless one-off takes
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| None of which make good on the finish line
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| Send Arthur Wellesley my warm embrace
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| But I have his author on the other line
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| For that was me when this came to be
|
| And I can’t always free all the hostages you take inside of me
|
| And when it goes wrong
|
| I sing my own song
|
| It’s a sad song I’ll only sing for you
|
| And, when I sing loud
|
| It cuts the noise out
|
| And only you remain, now
|
| As the games end
|
| Like an old friend
|
| I call the right one in
|
| Then there’s the strange case
|
| That we both make
|
| For keeping the out-takes in |