| Climb to the top of the greasy pole
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| Served my time in the capital
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| Trying to say something relatable
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| Like, «How are things in general?»
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| I’ve got nothing to protect
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| Except the image I project
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| Strangers stop and pay respects
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| Ask me if I’m alright
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| In the pale morning light
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| A simplicity calls to me
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| Saying when they tell you they understand
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| That’s your cue to get out while you still can
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| Cash it in and cancelling all your plans
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| Ah who could blame you?
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| Dying to own your own property
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| But National Trust bought the cemetery
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| Even burning in hells not a guarantee
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| No gravity under the apple tree
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| Twenty degrees in February
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| You and meteorology
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| I owe a couple of apologies
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| Don’t ask me if I’m alright
|
| In the pale morning light
|
| A simplicity calls to me
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| Saying when they tell you they understand
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| That’s your cue to get out while you still can
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| Cash it in and cancel all your plans
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| You could bury everything under sand
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| You could probably have whatever you like
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| But you could never handle the simple life
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| Oh you would never settle for just the sides
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| Who could blame you?
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| Do I look like I’m alright?
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| In the pale morning light
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| A simplicity calls to me
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| Tell them I’ll call them right back
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| Yeah I’ll be coming right back |