| So you finally got what you wanted
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| You’ve achieved your aim by making the walking lame
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| When you just can’t get any higher
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| You use your senses to suss out this week’s climber
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| And the small fame that you’ve acquired
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| Has brought political status
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| But to me you’re still a collector
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| There’s tarts and whores but you’re much more
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| You’re a different kind cause you want their minds
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| And you just don’t care cause you’ve got no brains
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| It’s just a face on your pillowcase
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| That thrills you
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| And you’ve started looking much older
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| And your fashion sense is second rate like your perfume
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| But to you in your own little dream world
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| You’re still the queen of the butterfly collectors
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| You carry on cause it’s all you know
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| You can’t light a fire, you can’t cook or sew
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| You go from day to day by filling your head
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| But you surely must know the thrill between your legs
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| Has worn off
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| And I don’t care about morals
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| Cause the world’s insane and we’re all to blame anyway
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| And I don’t feel any sorrow
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| Towards the Queens and Kings of the butterfly collectors
|
| There’s tarts and whores but you’re much more
|
| You’re a different kind cause you want their minds
|
| And you just don’t care cause you’ve got no brains
|
| It’s just a face on your pillowcase that thrills you
|
| You carry on cause it’s all you know
|
| You can’t light a fire, you can’t cook or sew
|
| You go from day to day by filling your head
|
| But you surely must know the thrill between your legs has worn off
|
| And I don’t feel any sorrow
|
| Towards the Kings and Queens of the butterfly collectors |