| Two lightning bolts were delivered to my room
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| They were gifts from Zeus
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| I rock the bolts in a bassinet of pine
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| People ask me how I am
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| I say I’m all right, I’m fine
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| I push the lightning bolts in a pram
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| Till the sun goes down and it gets dark
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| And the girls from Jubilee Street hang out their windows
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| And they wave and ask me how I am tonight
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| I say I’m good, I’m all right
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| In Athens all the youths are crying from the gas
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| I’m by the hotel pool working on a tan
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| People come up and ask me who I am
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| I say if you don’t know, don’t ask
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| Zeus laughs — but it’s the gas
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| And he asks me how I am
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| I say Zeus, don’t ask
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| My lightning bolts are jolts of joy
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| They are joy boys from Zeus
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| I feed them porridge in their booster seats of knowledge
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| And in the cradle of democracy, the pigeons are wearing gas masks
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| My lightning bolts play in the elevators
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| They slide down the hotel banister
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| And Zeus throws a gas canister
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| And it spins around the pool
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| As pigeons wearing respirators steal the lightning bolts
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| Zeus wants them back
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| O my bolts of joy
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| O my darling little boys
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| They are lost to us
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| And people
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| They are never coming back
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| At night I watch them sleep
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| And cry years of tears
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| And it’s not the gas
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| People ask me how we are
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| We are, I say, mostly lost |