| I was born on a close street down a hill
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| The trees that line the street
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| Could sense the winter change
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| They felt the chill
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| They ducked and dived
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| And so we knew that they were alive
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| Until the year the silver rain came down
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| The trees turned mauve
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| And so did my hands
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| Oh, and the sound.
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| There was no sound and I’m freezing in the sun
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| Nobody cares to hide the dopeheads and the suicides
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| 'Cause everyone freezes in the sun
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| And it’s fallin' away
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| I kicked around with Harry
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| Who lived near Salisbury Plain
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| He worked on the cathedral there every now and again
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| He worked with stone, carved with stone
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| Odd jobs on the telephone
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| One sunny day he was sent to the Houses of Parliament
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| Chipping' away at the gargoyles
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| Under the blistering sun
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| He carved out «Maggie Sucks» on the backs of every one
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| And so in five-hundred years
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| There’s gonna be some history here
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| After it all subsides in the sun
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| And it’s fallin' away
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| And I don’t wanna know
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| I’m glad I don’t know
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| What’s draggin' it under
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| Another day, another loon
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| A new pied piper calls the tune
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| So blow it up, watch it explode
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| Noah’s ark on overload
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| Wrestle with the results and throw 'em round the ring
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| Everybody knows there ain’t no rules in wrestling
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| (everybody knows there ain’t no rules)
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| The referee’s a dupe
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| Who only old ladies and children believe
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| I’m getting up now to leave
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| I’ll go back to that street someday
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| The air’s better there anyway
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| Though the trees are still gonna freeze in the sun
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| And it’s fallin' away
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| And I don’t wanna know
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| I’m glad I don’t know
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| What’s draggin' it under |