| There was a boy who came into this world
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| At the hands of a holy woman in a holy place
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| He wore a red coat and walked a bulldog
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| Saw them reflected in the mirror of the lakes
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| Lived in the shadow of the mountains
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| With the smells of disinfectant, dusty old leather
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| And the polished wood of his bed
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| No more than a baby feeding swans on the river
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| Holding the hands of his mother
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| And the wax paper bag of yesterday’s bread
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| And his father on the other side of the world
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| On the ships railings and some far away tide
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| With the silent dry tear of home thoughts from abroad
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| In his far away eyes
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| In his far away eyes
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| The smell of the wax on the wooden floor
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| Mixture of polish and soap
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| No children to fear or to play with
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| Rows of empty hooks for the coats
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| An upright piano and the boys in the choir
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| Still remind him of just before he was born
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| Remind him of just before he was breathing
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| Strange misty visions of God
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| Turn the cities into families
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| Into villages of souls
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| Hovering in the air while they’re sleeping
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| With their houses invisible
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| Chase the moon between the buildings
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| Running as fast as I could run
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| Send to me the ghosts of Christmas
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| Whispering, «You're the only one»
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| And ever since I was a boy
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| I never felt that I belonged
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| Like everything they did to me
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| Was an experiment to see
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| How I would cope with the illusion
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| In which direction would I jump
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| Would I do it all the same
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| As the actors in the game
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| Or would I spit it back at them
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| And not get caught up in their rules
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| And live according to my own
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| And not be used, not be used
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| To find the fundamental truths
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| It was going to take some time
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| Thirty five summers down the line
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| The wisdom of each passing year
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| Seems to serve only to confuse
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| Seems to serve only to confuse
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| Daddy came out the navy and took us away
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| To his dirty grey home town
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| And he worked down on a coal mine for National Service
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| So that he could be around
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| There was a magical purple in the chrome of the exhaust
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| Of his Triumph motor bike
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| And a warmth of oil and metal and the thrill of the hard corner
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| Holding tight
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| From the horizon
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| Came home from the Navy to the mine
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| From the horizon
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| To buried alive
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| Took his dream underground
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| Buried his treasure in his faraway eyes
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| And one day as the boy lay sleeping in the sunshine
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| Of a half remembered afternoon
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| A cloud of bees with no particular aim, and no brain
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| Found the boy, decided that his time had come
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| Came down out of the sky
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| Stung him in the face
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| Again and again
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| Blue pain
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| Screaming like baptism
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| Intravenous, Jesus!
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| Like being chosen
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| Blue pain from something with no brain
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| I can’t explain
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| It’s happening again
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| It’s happening again
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| Oh Mummy, Daddy, will you sit a while with me
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| Oh Mummy, Daddy, will you jog my memory
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| Tell me tall tales of Montego Bay
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| Table mountain, flying fish, banana spiders, pots of paint
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| And the sun on the equator
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| Setting like an ember thrown to deep water
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| From crimson to black
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| But coming back
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| Tomorrow
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| On the horizon
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| The blue pain
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| Fades to a point where it doesn’t fade
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| It stayed
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| Blue
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| Stirred his red coat heart to this strange engine
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| This love
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| This love
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| This inconvenient, blind, blood-diamond
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| This puzzle
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| I don’t understand
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| That knows no faith
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| And tries and fails
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| And tries again
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| Stares at the sea
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| The night’s dark deep
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| For one last time
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| And bleeds
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| And bleeds
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| And dies for you
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| And lies
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| And is to blame
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| And is ashamed
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| And is not the same
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| And is true
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| And is true |