| The papers read that the king is dead
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| The people said, «What we need instead
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| Is to be on our own»
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| But people they do the strangest things
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| You never know what they might do
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| When they are left alone
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| There’s men without gods and gods without men
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| And a spirit of which none of them can transcend
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| But something peculiar is happening
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| We should just be happy with just what we’ve got
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| And the problems should be too few to mention
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| But they’re not
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| Where can I go for some information?
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| So tired of the big sensation
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| I need to know, what’s going on
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| Oh well, you’re the well-informed
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| Into your world which I was born
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| My friend, here’s to you
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| How would I know if there was something wrong
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| When the weak of heart out-survive the strong?
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| The truth is almost always confidential
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| You never know just what you’ve got until it’s gone
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| And your friends have never seemed so essential
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| When you’re wrong
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| Remarkably incredible, incredibly forgettable
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| I know this might sound strange, don’t ever change
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| Amazingly infazeable, entirely replaceable
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| There’s nothing I would rearrange, don’t ever change
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| Out of luck, out of space, out of time, out of place
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| Don’t try to save face, my friend
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| There was a time and there was a place
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| For your face and for your race, but it’s been swept away |