| I remember back when I was in the womb
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| It felt like I was the first baby on the moon
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| Blood cells were the stars and the placenta was the earth
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| and I had amniotic fluid as my space food
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| and I made all kinds of plans for when I got out
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| the things I would do the things I’d talk about (when I learned to talk)
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| and for when I learned to walk I planned the places I would go to
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| like new Brunswick and the mall and the Toronto zoo.
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| And from the uterus I planned out the world I would create
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| I’d ride a scooter or a bus and I would go on dates
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| And in the evenings I’d stay in and concentrate
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| On drafting plans for my own benevolent state
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| Yes I wanted to see that new world
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| That big brown black green and blue world
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| I was getting bored with the small old world I was in
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| I wanted to make that new world
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| My world would be a place where everyone would play saxophones
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| But never soprano saxophones just tenors and baritones
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| And once in a trumpet and a rusty old French horn
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| Would play a solo and make us shake our little bones
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| I was an ambitious little unborn child
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| When the doctor did the ultrasound I winked and I smiled
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| Then I just relaxed and laid back for a while
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| I was patient cause that was kind of my style
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| But to be honest I was looking forward to getting out of there
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| And doing things like growing teeth and a bit of hair
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| But I was also thinking that the whole birth thing was unfair
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| Cause it would be over so quickly after so much time to prepare
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| And then I was finally born into the disease of the world
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| And so were thousands of other little boys and girls
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| And we shook our little fists at the sky and cried and hurled our insults
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| and our anger and took our flags and banners and unfurled them and they said:
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| «Take us back to the old world!
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| We don’t want this ugly new world!
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| We were much happier back then, and we want back in,
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| Take us back to the old world!» |