| A city freeze
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| Get on your knees
|
| Pray for warmth and green paper.
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| A city drought
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| You’re down and out
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| See your trousers don’t taper.
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| Saddle up Kick your feet
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| Ride the range of a London street
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| Travel to a local plane
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| Turn around and come back again.
|
| And at the chime of the city clock
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| Put up your road block
|
| Hang on to your crown.
|
| For a stone in a tin can
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| Is wealth to the city man
|
| Who leaves his armour down.
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| Stay indoors
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| Beneath the floors
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| Talk with neighbours only.
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| The games you play
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| Make people say
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| You’re either weird or lonely.
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| A city star
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| Won’t shine too far
|
| On account of the way you are
|
| And the beads
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| Around your face
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| Make you sure to fit back in place.
|
| And at the beat of the city drum
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| See how your friends come in twos;
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| Or threes or more.
|
| For the sound of a busy place
|
| Is fine for a pretty face
|
| Who knows what a face is for.
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| The city clown
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| Will soon fall down
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| Without a face to hide in.
|
| And he will lose
|
| If he won’t choose
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| The one he may confide in.
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| Sonny boy
|
| With smokes for sale
|
| Went to ground with a face so pale
|
| And never heard
|
| About the change
|
| Showed his hand and fell out of range.
|
| In the light of a city square
|
| Find out the face that’s fair
|
| Keep it by your side.
|
| When the light of the city falls
|
| You fly to the city walls
|
| Take off with your bride.
|
| But at the chime of a city clock
|
| Put up your road block
|
| Hang on to your crown.
|
| For a stone in a tin can
|
| Is wealth to the city man
|
| Who leaves his armour down. |