| Started mailroom
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| Moved up through Clerical, now Obituaries
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| I am the teacher’s son
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| I am the teacher’s son
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| I am the teacher’s son
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| I’m the teacher’s son
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| Never seen a sky so big
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| Like it’s been saving up for years
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| Clouds from Russia press-ganged in
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| Until the dateline disappears
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| I have loved and lost like the river’s lost and found
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| But i’ve never fought the tide and i’ve never fucked around
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| I’m the teacher’s son
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| My favourite sound is churchbells
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| And my greatest love’s the sea though I never learnt to swim
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| Never trusted it with me
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| I wrote a novel in my twenties though it never left my head
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| A thousand words a sitting 'til all the characters were dead
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| I’m the teacher’s son
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| My father was a poet though he never got the chance
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| 'Cos his words looked like another’s if you took them at a glance
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| But he met a girl so pretty that he asked her to a dance
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| And there his words they died liked flowers
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| There his words, they lost all power
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| I’ve been told I have his ways
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| I’ve been told I have his grace but he left me on my birthday
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| And the only thing remains
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| I’m the teacher’s son |