| It was the day before the day before yesterday
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| When we thought everything would now go our way
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| We inherited a fortune of innocence
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| And they took it all away
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| We travel on the last bus from sanity
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| Through province town to cities of obscurity
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| And some way down the road it occurs to me That I might have missed my stop
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| But I will not return to yesterday
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| Or smooth out the human clay
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| We’ll face this new England like we always have
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| In a fury of denial
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| We’ll go out dancing on the tiles
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| Help me down, but don’t take me back
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| I heard a lover calling to Saint Anthony
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| Sadly treating love like her property
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| Only battles can be lost and so it seems we do But I’m hoping for a change
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| I left you at the bus stop in working town
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| Now the service has been cut, re-named slumberdown
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| I can see you on the bars of your brother’s bicycle
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| Now I hope you’re not alone
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| But I will not return to yesterday
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| Or smooth out the human clay
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| We’ll face this new England like we always have
|
| In a fury of denial
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| We’ll go out dancing on the tiles
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| Help me down, but don’t take me back
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| And all the politician creeps
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| I know they want them back
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| And the couturier weeps
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| She knows they won’t come back
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| And the lovers who seldom speak
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| I know they want them back
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| And me falling back into your half term kisses
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| No, I will not return to yesterday
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| Or smooth out the human clay
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| We’ll face this new England like we always have
|
| In a fury of denial
|
| We’ll go out dancing on the tiles
|
| Help me down, but don’t take me back |