| Your face is like the moment when the sexist hero traps
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| The slippy villain with the weasel face, you don’t have to speak
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| Your expression is the truth that your words don’t say
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| And the truth won’t go away
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| In many dark corners
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| I have thought myself about this
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| Did you do it out of malice
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| Did you fall or were you kissed
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| Could you ask your friend in the cowboy jacket
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| And those boots up to his knee
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| Would he shut his mouth for me
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| I’ve heard just enough
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| All I want to hear about pipes and drums
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| And how little time it takes the klutz to come
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| The golden gift of silence is I don’t have to hear you speak
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| So would you take him out yourself before I put you both back in the street
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| Now the story shifts and we see a young man
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| Standing in the wings too old before his time
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| Collecting gray hairs
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| He’s proud and he’s scared and he says «I don’t care»
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| How can he be so blind so how did you corrupt him
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| You must have got him where it counts
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| Now he’s so numb he’s ready to freeze
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| And you’re ready for the monkey house
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| Ready for the monkey house
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| The monkey house but you won’t take me |