| See him digging, see him weeding
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| Every single day of the year
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| Coffee at eleven, four-thirty tea
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| His security is built on routine
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| But inside his mind there’s a lot going on
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| Planning the world but it just don’t do no good
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| I say, what’s the use?
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| Population, starvation
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| His mind keeps working hard
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| Ending wars, changing laws
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| But all of them locked away
|
| I say, what’s the use?
|
| Population, starvation
|
| His mind keeps working hard
|
| Ending wars, changing laws
|
| But all of them locked away
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| In cessation, repetition
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| Funeral for an age of decay
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| Meditation, deep frustration
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| Caused our hairy friend to die
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| Here lies a man who failed to escape
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| Filled his small head with the worries that plague the world
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| I say, what’s the use? |