| Now at last I’ve mastered
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| This business of living
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| Though I’ve lost my self-respect along the way
|
| (For worms like me a small price to pay!)
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| Ambition was the road I sent my cars down
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| Full of application forms and guns
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| I scooped up what no-one else would stoop to
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| I turned men to methods one by one
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| Then again they loved me like a father
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| Then again I sheltered them from choice
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| (They were speechless so I used their voice!)
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| In my extensive garden sheltered from the world I’ve made my faithful wife and
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| daughter sit on benches in the rain awaiting me And although I’ve given them no
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| special incentive their one pursuit and hobby is to reflect credit on me
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| Now the world’s at the end of my tether
|
| In a last ditch bid to get it together
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| I wake my wife in the night
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| And ask her is our life right?
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| But as her tired voice cracks
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| And she starts to pretend
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| I find myself at my own receiving end
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| Disappointment crowns my years like grey hair
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| And I’ve taught the world my point of view
|
| (It's in the saddest part of you)
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| Better men than me have lost their freedom
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| When my measures made them lose their cool
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| Prizing head and heart will get you nowhere
|
| When your word commands a ship of fools
|
| Then again I’ve bred respect for virtue
|
| Then again I’ve set the terms for vice
|
| (My laws are simple and concise)
|
| I arrange for my ivy green limousine to break down amongst holly trees and
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| seize a command performance from my beautiful daughter And as I commit this
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| unnatural act by the shores of Lake Geneva I contemplate the fact that blood is
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| much sexier than water
|
| Now the world’s at the end of my tether
|
| In a last ditch bid to get it together
|
| I appoint Maria the queen
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| Of my happy office harem
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| But as I smell the fear in the memos she sends
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| I find myself at my own receiving end
|
| After all I’m just the man on your street
|
| In my cups I’m raking in my cut
|
| (It's a never-ending glut)
|
| When I’m patching up my reputation
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| I confess a simple man’s misdeeds
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| For the body in this robe of office
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| Shares its skin with everything that bleeds
|
| Then again these powers have been my weakness
|
| Then again I may not live for long
|
| (While you think you need me I’ll be strong)
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| In the darkness of this hat I keep my head in ever-accelerating
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| Trains of thought are giving me a whale of time
|
| And as I mint the tin gods that will succeed me
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| I cross your outstretched sweating palm with my portrait
|
| Metal and sublime
|
| Now the world’s at the end of my tether
|
| In a last ditch bid to get it together
|
| I remember my citizen’s rights
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| And call for professional advice
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| But as the cold phone croaks
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| 'Can I help you my friend?'
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| I find myself at my own receiving end |