| Up the stairs, go through the cupboards, secrets are to me
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| The droppings of the animal I stalk relentlessly
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| Nothing titillating or deliciously decayed
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| I guess the truth is nothing special but elusive anyway
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| Down on the river bank the watchman shines his torch
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| But he sees no sign of the exquisite corpse
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| He sees no sign of the exquisite corpse
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| All the clues are added up to make a wider scheme
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| The patterns are so intricate like opiated dreams
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| The characters I see are only actors in a play
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| A seedy tv drama to be screened around midday
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| I follow her to price-check
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| And get the girl to talk about
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| Her father and his lawyer and the exquisite corpse
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| Her father and his lawyer and the exquisite corpse
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| The city murmurs in its sleep incriminating sounds
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| Its poisons and its weaponry are scattered all around
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| I know there’s more to all of this than I can touch or see
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| It’s dead and cold and dangerous, but elegant to me
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| With burning eyes and coffee breath and then a day in court
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| Still I lay fifty pences on the eyes of this exquisite corpse
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| I lay fifty pences on the eyes of this exquisite corpse |