| Spring light in a hazy May
|
| and a man with a gun at the door
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| Someone’s crawling on the roof above--
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| all the media here for the show
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| I’ve been waiting for our friends to come
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| Like spiders down ropes to free-fall
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| A thirty round clip for a visiting card--
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| admit one to the embassy ball
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| Caught in the crossfire on Princes Gate Avenue
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| In go the windows and out go the lights
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| Call me a doctor. |
| Fetch me a policeman
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| I’m down on the floor in one hell of a fight
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| I’m just a soul with an innocent face--
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| a regular boy dressed in blue
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| conducting myself in a proper way
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| as befitting the job that I do They came down on me like a ton of bricks
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| Swept off my feet, knocked about
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| There’s nothing for it but to sit and wait
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| for the hard men to get me out
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| Calm reason floats from the street below
|
| and the slow fuse burns through the night
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| Everyone’s tried to talk it through
|
| but they can’t seem to get the deal right
|
| Somewhere there are Brownings in a two-hand hold--
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| cocked and locked, one up the spout
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| There’s nothing for it but to sit and wait
|
| for the hard men to get me out |