| Outside a Train roars,
|
| The clatter is deafening
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| Louder than everything,
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| Drowns what you were saying
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| And the Boys get on the back of that train
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| Their clamour is deafening,
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| Louder than everything
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| And they accept no warning
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| And me in my brilliant red shirt
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| And my shirt hangs open at the neck
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| The Train is always passing through
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| Male passengers turn their heads,
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| Following the passage
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| Of a beautiful Ducchess
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| Running from carriage to carriage
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| And it ploughs through the city,
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| And everyone rides the Train
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| It ploughs a primal instinct
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| To rail against better sense
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| The train is always passing through
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| And me in my bloodstained shirt,
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| My body hangs open at the neck
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| It is always passing through,
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| The train is always passing through,
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| Through me |