| The half-backflip conception, state hospital birth
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| The most threadbare, tall story the country has ever heard
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| Brought home to breath smoke in the arms of her mother
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| The blunt kitchen knife who just lays in a submissive position
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| Beneath a national weight and the slow arc of a fist
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| Her heart beats like a breezeblock thrown down the stairs
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| Her blood is thicker than concrete forced to be brave
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| She was born into a grave
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| And in the limp through years of bored schooling
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| She’s accustomed to hearing that she could never run far
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| A slipped disc in the spine of community
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| A bloody curse word in a pedestrian verse
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| Spirits in graveyards and fingers in car parks
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| She cries on the high street just to be heard
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| A screaming anchor for nothing in particular
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| At the foot of the fuck of it dragging her heels in the dirt
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| Her heart beats like a breezeblock thrown down the stairs
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| Her blood is thicker than concrete forced to be brave
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| She was born into a grave
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| The cheek of youth flashed red and turned green
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| Now she lies on the pavement, she is helped to her feet
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| All thighs, hair and magpie handbags
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| Saturday’s uniform for the ‘fuck me' parade
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| Brought home to keep warm in the arms of a plumber
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| Ruddy and balding who just needs a spine to dig into
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| A chest for the head and a hand for the holding
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| Her heart beats like a breezeblock thrown down the stairs
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| Her blood is thicker than concrete forced to be brave
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| She was, she was
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| Her heart beats like a breezeblock thrown down the stairs
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| Her skin is thicker than concrete forced to be brave
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| She was, she was
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| A broken elevator anthem held between floors
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| But if blood is thicker than concrete
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| All is not lost
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| All is not lost
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| All is not lost
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| All is not lost
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| All is not lost |