| Brought up in a world of changes
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| Part time cleaner in a holiday flat
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| Stare out to sea at the ships at night
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| No anaesthesia, I’m gonna work on it day to day
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| No zephyr no light relief it seems
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| But maybe it’s a dream
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| I’m lying back in a row of timber cases placed out
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| On the dock with nightmare faces looking at me
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| And I can see now, and I wanna be free now
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| This is my home
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| This is my sea
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| Don’t paint it with the future, of factories
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| I want to stay, I feel okay
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| There’s nothing else as perfect
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| I’ll have my way
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| Brought up in a world of changes
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| Waste product, pedestrian, limb from limb
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| Short changed by the surfing priest again
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| Two children in the harbour
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| They play their game stormwater drain
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| Write their contract in the sand, it’ll be great for life
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| But you can draw the blind
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| But you can’t stop the sun
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| From shining on and on and getting you there
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| Tide forever beckons you to leave
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| But something holds you back
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| It’s not the promise of the swell or a girl
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| Just a hope that someday someway it’ll be okay
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| So you stop and say
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| This is my home
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| This is my sea
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| Don’t paint it with the future of factories
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| This is my life
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| This is my right
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| I’ll make it what I want to
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| I’ll stay and I’ll fight |