| Coming in at night all the desert highways
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| Crackle with the static of a thousand little radios
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| Everyone talking, no-one listening
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| Well by now I should expect that
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| Down into the city I smell artificial green
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| A glasshouse full of growing things
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| That are not what they seem to be
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| Look away, look away, the procession’s leaving town
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| The emperor rides naked and no-one gives a damn
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| That was the last time
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| I get a morbid satisfaction watching Sunset in all its degradation
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| We were in a restaurant for wannabes clinking glasses in celebration
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| We had to leave before something bad occurred and Niko grabbed the keys
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| We drove out in the early morning with the radio jammed on R’n’B
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| Drive away, drive away, and he turned to me and smiled
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| Said, how does it feel to be living through the Fall of Rome
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| And I said it’s beginning to feel OK
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| The last time
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| Well I gave you all my money
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| I’m ashamed to remember now just why I did that
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| I got bitter, I got jealous, but not as much as you
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| Do you understand that?
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| Ten hours drifting half awake and finally touching down
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| I went out in the rainy morning and kissed the blessed ground
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| Coming home, coming home and the most of it is done
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| And the worst of us is left behind in the place where it belongs
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| That was, the last time |