| Lucy Grace can’t show her face
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| Down in the North End Road
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| For in Belgravia
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| Rumours have been whispered
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| And suggestions have been made
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| Did you sell your friends out
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| When the heat got too intense?
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| You say you like the danger
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| But it’s only a pretence
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| You say you need the money
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| When everybody knows you can
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| Always fall back on your inheritance
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| Did you bruise your arms on those false alarms?
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| Did you bruise your pride on his smile so wide?
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| Only fingertips from forbidden bliss
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| Did you bruise your lips in this basement kiss?
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| Who’s that sneaking round the door?
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| You can’t come here no more
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| Can’t you go home again?
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| She used to sit alone for hours
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| Spend her evenings watering dried flowers
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| When her mother came to stay
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| And finally went to bed
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| Lucy Grace was in the front room
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| Shooting through your head
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| She tried to take your breath away
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| And give you something else instead
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| Next year she’ll serve her function
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| In that Audrey Hepburn hat
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| It still won’t serve her much
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| But she’ll get over that
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| She’ll be pale and feign indifference |
| As they’re handing out the prizes
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| Spilling Daddy’s pearls of wisdom
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| And her ugly sister’s tranquilizers
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| Why were you so tardy putting up your guard?
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| When you hurt so easily and you try so hard
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| Did you bruise your arms on those false alarms?
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| Did you bruise your pride on his face so snide?
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| Only fingertips from forbidden bliss
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| Did you bruise your lips in this basement kiss? |