| With a heart-attack on your plate
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| You were looking back on your days
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| How you spent them all in a blur
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| When they asked if you were for sure
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| Let the sugar melt down your throat
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| 'Cause you know it’s sweet getting old
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| With a lollipop and a rose
|
| Let the hospital be your home
|
| 'Cause your knees are scratched and your eyes are black
|
| Put a plaster there and I’ll sign your cast
|
| In the liner notes at the end
|
| Some familiar names in tiny print
|
| On the cover page of the year
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| Grainy photographs, greasy hair
|
| But it’s noon o’clock and you’re still asleep
|
| And your coffee’s cold, your coffee’s icy
|
| 'Cause your knees are scratched and your eyes are black
|
| Put a plaster there and I’ll sign your cast
|
| Classic Hollywood is a kid
|
| With the volume up all the way
|
| Now you do the same and you’re right
|
| Things are better in black and white
|
| But there’s another girl and another day
|
| And your favourite food still tastes the same
|
| 'Cause your knees are scratched and your eyes are black
|
| Put a plaster there and I’ll sign your cast
|
| When the best and the brightest turn their televisions on
|
| Have your seatbelts strapped and your helmets on |