| Mr. Richards, your position
 | 
| Is a messenger pigeon
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| Left behind you when the camp moved on
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| We thought that you would listen
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| But the words had never crystallized
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| Into a truth that you might own, hey hey
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| Mr. Richards, your decision
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| Pay attention, pay attention
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| Mr. Richards, you’re forgiven
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| For a narrow lack of vision
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| But the fires are still raging on
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| The public’s got opinions
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| And these consequences border on
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| The compound that you razed
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| Where zealots sang, hey hey
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| Mr. Richards, your decision
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| Pay attention, pay attention
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| So listen, your intention;
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| Sign the papers, stamp the ribbon
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| You’re mistaken if you think we’ll just forget
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| You can thump your chest and rattle
 | 
| Stand in front of your piano
 | 
| But we know what’s going on
 | 
| Yes we know what’s going on
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| We’re the children of the choir, hey
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| And we know what’s going on
 | 
| Mr. Richards, your conviction
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| Had us cheering in the kitchen
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| Now the jury’s eating pigeon pie
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| So tell me how is prison?
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| Have they taught you how to listen?
 | 
| We’ve begun to bridge the schism
 | 
| Pay attention, pay attention
 | 
| Mr. Richards, your decision
 | 
| Pay attention, pay attention
 | 
| You can thump your chest and rattle
 | 
| Stand in front of your piano
 | 
| But we know what’s going on
 | 
| Yes we know what’s going on
 | 
| We’re the children of the choir, hey
 | 
| From the compound fire, hey
 | 
| And we know what’s going on
 | 
| Yes we know what’s going on |