| In chocolate town all the trains are painted brown
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| On the silver paper of the wrapper
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| Theres a dapper little man
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| And he wears a wax moustache
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| That he twists with nicotine fingers
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| As he drops his cigarette ash
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| And someone comes and sweeps it up And then he doffs his cap
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| And theres a rat in someones bedroom
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| And theyre shutting someones trap
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| And theyll soon be pulling down the little palaces
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| And the doors swing back and forward, from the past into the present
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| And the bedside crucifixion turns from wood to phosphorescent.
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| And theyre moving problem families from the south up to the north,
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| Mothers crying over some soft soap opera divorce,
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| And you say you didnt do it, but you know you did of course,
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| And theyll soon be pulling down the little palaces.
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| Its like shouting in a matchbox, filled with plasterboard and hope,
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| Like a picture of prince william in the arms of john the pope.
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| Theres a world of good intentions, and pity in their eyes,
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| The sedated homes of england, are theirs to vandalize.
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| So you knock the kids about a bit, because theyve got your name,
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| And you knock the kids about a bit, until they feel the same.
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| And they feel like knocking down the little palaces.
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| Youre the twinkle in your daddys eye, a name you spray and scribble,
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| You made the girls all turn their heads, and in turn they made you miserable.
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| To be the heir apparent, to the kingdom of the invisible.
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| So you knock the kids about a bit, because theyve got your name,
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| And you knock the kids about a bit, until they feel the same.
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| And they feel like knocking down the little palaces. |