| If you’re leaving please still say goodbye
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| And if you are leaving can you leave me my silver jubilee mug
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| My old flag
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| My dark woods
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| My sunrise
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| If you’re leaving can you please say goodbye
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| And if you are leaving can you leave your number
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| I’ll pack my case
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| And get in a cab
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| And wave you goodbye
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| I drive in the early hours down to the sea
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| I stand on the beach where the storms amplify
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| All the voices that I care for
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| And the ghosts I hold sacred
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| In this alignment that lasts for a day
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| There’s nothing that I can do anyway, anyway
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| What am I doing here?
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| Waiting for you?
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| Hey
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| So rebuild the railways
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| Firm up all the roads
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| No one is leaving
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| Now this is your home
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| The horses, the foxes, the sheep, and the cows
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| Bow down on their knees
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| To the fanfare of progress, it’s always the same
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| We cheer on the clowns as they roll into town
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| But their faces look tired and sad to me
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| And carry the terrible things they’ve seen
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| All lost in a painting of a sky coloured oil
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| In this Merrie Land
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| You are my crows, my window rattlers
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| Perfumed valley criers
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| Oh the dark ponds of Merrie England
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| The deep space echoes
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| Get on your mo…
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| What did you say? |
| Mobility (You can fly)
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| Get on your mobilised hooters… (to the moon)
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| Hooters… Haha
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| Mobilised Hooters… Haha
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| (One day)
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| Get hold of those mobilised hooters
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| They are half price
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| This is not rhetoric
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| It comes from my heart
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| I love this country
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| Daneland, I am your kin
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| You were the ones who work together
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| Put the money in the pockets
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| Of the few and their fortunes
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| Who crowd the school benches
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| And jeer at us all because they don’t care about us
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| They are graceless and you shouldn’t be with them
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| Because they are all disconnected and raised up in mansions
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| And two hundred plastic bags in a whale’s stomach
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| So you turn to the trident
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| Are we green are we pleasant?
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| We are not either of those Father
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| We are a shaking wreck where nothing grows
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| Lost in the sky coloured oils of Merrie Land |