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<noinclude>{{Lyrics for|Little Palaces}}</noinclude> | |||
In Chocolate Town all the trains are painted brown | In Chocolate Town all the trains are painted brown<br> | ||
On the silver paper of the wrapper<br> | |||
On the silver paper of the wrapper | There's a dapper little man<br> | ||
And he wears a wax moustache<br> | |||
There's a dapper little man | That he twists with nicotine fingers<br> | ||
As he drops his cigarette ash<br> | |||
And he wears a wax moustache | And someone comes and sweeps it up<br> | ||
And then he doffs his cap<br> | |||
That he twists with nicotine fingers | And there's a rat in someone's bedroom<br> | ||
And they're shutting someone's trap<br> | |||
As he drops his cigarette ash | And they'll soon be pulling down the little palaces<br> | ||
And the doors swing back and forward, from the past into the present<br> | |||
And someone comes and sweeps it up | And the bedside crucifixion turns from wood to phosphorescent.<br> | ||
And they're moving problem families from the South up to the North,<br> | |||
And then he doffs his cap | Mother's crying over some soft soap opera divorce,<br> | ||
And you say you didn't do it, but you know you did of course,<br> | |||
And there's a rat in someone's bedroom | And they'll soon be pulling down the little palaces.<br> | ||
<br> | |||
And they're shutting someone's trap | It's like shouting in a matchbox, filled with plasterboard and hope,<br> | ||
Like a picture of Prince William in the arms of John the Pope.<br> | |||
And they'll soon be pulling down the little palaces | There's a world of good intentions, and pity in their eyes,<br> | ||
The sedated homes of England, are theirs to vandalize.<br> | |||
And the doors swing back and forward, from the past into the present | <br> | ||
So you knock the kids about a bit, because they've got your name,<br> | |||
And the bedside crucifixion turns from wood to phosphorescent. | And you knock the kids about a bit, until they feel the same.<br> | ||
And they feel like knocking down the little palaces.<br> | |||
And they're moving problem families from the South up to the North, | <br> | ||
You're the twinkle in your daddy's eye, a name you spray and scribble,<br> | |||
Mother's crying over some soft soap opera divorce, | You made the girls all turn their heads, and in turn they made you miserable.<br> | ||
To be the heir apparent, to the kingdom of the invisible.<br> | |||
And you say you didn't do it, but you know you did of course, | <br> | ||
So you knock the kids about a bit, because they've got your name,<br> | |||
And they'll soon be pulling down the little palaces. | And you knock the kids about a bit, until they feel the same.<br> | ||
And they feel like knocking down the little palaces.<br> | |||
It's like shouting in a matchbox, filled with plasterboard and hope, | |||
Like a picture of Prince William in the arms of John the Pope. | |||
There's a world of good intentions, and pity in their eyes, | |||
The sedated homes of England, are theirs to vandalize. | |||
So you knock the kids about a bit, because they've got your name, | |||
And you knock the kids about a bit, until they feel the same. | |||
And they feel like knocking down the little palaces. | |||
You're the twinkle in your daddy's eye, a name you spray and scribble, | |||
You made the girls all turn their heads, and in turn they made you miserable. | |||
To be the heir apparent, to the kingdom of the invisible. | |||
So you knock the kids about a bit, because they've got your name, | |||
And you knock the kids about a bit, until they feel the same. | |||
And they feel like knocking down the little palaces. |
Latest revision as of 17:48, 1 May 2009
Little Palaces
In Chocolate Town all the trains are painted brown
On the silver paper of the wrapper
There's a dapper little man
And he wears a wax moustache
That he twists with nicotine fingers
As he drops his cigarette ash
And someone comes and sweeps it up
And then he doffs his cap
And there's a rat in someone's bedroom
And they're shutting someone's trap
And they'll soon be pulling down the little palaces
And the doors swing back and forward, from the past into the present
And the bedside crucifixion turns from wood to phosphorescent.
And they're moving problem families from the South up to the North,
Mother's crying over some soft soap opera divorce,
And you say you didn't do it, but you know you did of course,
And they'll soon be pulling down the little palaces.
It's like shouting in a matchbox, filled with plasterboard and hope,
Like a picture of Prince William in the arms of John the Pope.
There's a world of good intentions, and pity in their eyes,
The sedated homes of England, are theirs to vandalize.
So you knock the kids about a bit, because they've got your name,
And you knock the kids about a bit, until they feel the same.
And they feel like knocking down the little palaces.
You're the twinkle in your daddy's eye, a name you spray and scribble,
You made the girls all turn their heads, and in turn they made you miserable.
To be the heir apparent, to the kingdom of the invisible.
So you knock the kids about a bit, because they've got your name,
And you knock the kids about a bit, until they feel the same.
And they feel like knocking down the little palaces.