Son, there are mirros here-watch your performing little whales
Or snip your harness of and take another walk around the bay
The way the English say we only mustn't grumble in the end
A needle in your back, an arrow in your heart, you smile
CHORUS
Is your wax doll still crying in the fire?
It cramps your handwriting, and dulls what little style you have
You cast your mind back to professionals like Alan Breeze
Who sees the windows freeze and hands around the keys
"Unlock yourself," he says, but no one ever does
Except for Jacob Lurch, and Mr. Moose and Dandy
CHORUS
Do you think that anybody wants to be your friend
Now that they know?
Son, there are breakers here-your living room it glides across the sea
Or high above waves, the wrinkled little waves you cannot smooth
We travel everywhere, we're gonna take the suburbs to the stars
If I was man enough I'd come on your stump
If I was man enough I'd come on your stump
But don't you know, this is the Home Counties
CHORUS
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