| Now when your mother sends back all your invitations
|
| And your father to your sister he explains
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| That you’re tired of yourself and all of your creations
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| Won’t you come see me, Queen Jane?
|
| Won’t you come see me, Queen Jane?
|
| Now the flower lady wants back what she has have lent you
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| And the smell of her roses does not remain
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| When all your children start to resent you
|
| Won’t you come see me, Queen Jane?
|
| Won’t you come see me, Queen Jane?
|
| Now when all the clowns that you have commissioned
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| Have all died in battle or in vain
|
| And you find yourself sick of all this repetition
|
| Won’t you come see me, Queen Jane?
|
| Won’t you come see me, Queen Jane?
|
| Now when all of your advisers heave their plastic
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| At your feet to convince you of your pain
|
| Trying to prove that your conclusions should be more drastic
|
| Won’t you come see me, Queen Jane?
|
| Won’t you come see me, Queen Jane?
|
| Now when all the bandits that you turned your other cheek to
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| All throw down their bandannas and complain
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| Maybe you want somebody you don’t have to speak to
|
| Won’t you come see me, Queen Jane?
|
| Won’t you come see me, Queen Jane? |