| In every generation
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| There are those who just don’t fit in
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| We never asked to be this way
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| Born without souls or blood or skin
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| We’re young republicans
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| The doors are locked, the curtains drawn
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| Our silken gloves and bonnets on
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| You cannot pass
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| You’ve no appetite
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| To taste the burning flesh of
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| A supreme joy no doubt at all
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| We lift our heads, we lift our heads
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| And see the world is burning
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| In every neat and tidy town
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| We can’t help feel we’ve been let down
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| We never asked to be this way
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| No spines, no tongues, no fingerprints
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| We’re young republicans
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| The doors are locked and the blinds are drawn
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| Our lamb-skin gloves and bonnets on
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| You can’t pass
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| This is just for us
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| To taste the burning flesh of men
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| The greatest joy there’s ever been
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| We lift our heads, we lift our heads
|
| And see the world is burning
|
| The doors are locked, the curtains drawn
|
| Our silken gloves and bonnets on
|
| You cannot pass
|
| This is all for us
|
| The doors are locked, the lines are drawn
|
| Our calfskin gloves and bonnets on
|
| You can’t pass
|
| You’ve no appetite
|
| To taste the burning flesh of men
|
| The greatest joy there’s ever been
|
| We lift our heads, we lift our heads
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| At last, the world is burning |