| I could’ve seen it in a magazine,
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| the perfect picture of the Manhattan streets,
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| A monologue from Carrie will make the scene feel complete,
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| as the people fill up the commercial streets.
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| I could be sitting here in London town,
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| it’s the weekend there are kids all around.
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| The rustling of platic is the universal sound, from Greenwich
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| to Greenwich, from dollars to pounds.
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| You could be children of the revolution, but no,
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| they go and beckon you into their loving arms and
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| say son it’s good to see you again.
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| A child of fourteen fingers down their throat,
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| convulsing stomach she’s starting to choke.
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| The mirror rings loud with all the words they invoke.
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| This feeling of worthlessness will help them promote.
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| All of the products that they need you to buy,
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| shareholder profits over Children’s lives.
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| And they don’t really care as all the tears that you cry,
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| will help them to wash away all their dirty lies
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| Chorus repeat x 2 |