| An old man surrounded by his books
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| Trestle table pilled with old newspapers
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| Fifteen cats scratching at his door
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| Filfth and mess all across the floor
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| Chorus: It’s alright Mrs. Brown, you know Mrs. Carter
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| He’s a luna-luna-luna-luna-luna-luna-lunatic (x2).
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| Still used to walk with your spotty dog
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| Gazing for hours at the flower beds
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| Under the victorian canopy
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| Knocking the leaves of the dead trees
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| You’re a luna-luna-luna-luna-luna-luna-lunatic (x2)
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| The open ward is the place for you
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| Where someone they will tie your shoes
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| You’ll have visitors one every year
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| And you don’t have to cry, there’s a million tears, everyone cries there
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| Chorus
|
| And still you walk with your spotty dog
|
| Gazing for hours at the flower beds
|
| Under the victorian canopy
|
| Picking the leaves of the dead trees
|
| Yes, you’re a luna-luna-luna-luna-luna-luna-lunatic (x4)
|
| Still used to walk with your spotty dog
|
| Gazing for hours at the flower beds
|
| Under the victorian canopy
|
| Picking the leaves of the dead trees |