| We walk in fear and trepidation
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| Count the rows of dead
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| While the murderer plays his trumpets
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| For the ones that he has led
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| And theres nothing much that can be done
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| For
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| While you’re still strong
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| And the big boys laugh to see such fun
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| And the little girl cries cos she knows whats wrong
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| You may think I don’t know anything
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| You may think I’ve got it wrong
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| But I know what it means when I hear the hangman
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| Whistling his song
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| And the knives so sharp in whitehall
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| And the knives they keep for us
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| And the only weapons we’ve got
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| Are our hopes and fragile love
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| Theres many pints of blood
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| Upon the hands that rule the earth
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| Though for every body dragged out
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| Another one gives birth
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| And the children have the world one day
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| And I hope they use it well
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| And I wish their elders all the best
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| And I hope they burn in hell
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| And then the sun goes down
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| And leaves me with the night
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| Where I suffer with the ghosts
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| And still more fright
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| And the mirror breaks I stand alone, alone
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| And I light another cigarette and drown
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| And the big boys laugh to see such fun
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| And the little girl cries cos she knows whats wrong |