| Seems like a heavy load
|
| Anti-depressants lessen episodes
|
| While the West End boys in their hand-me-down clothes
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| Brag about fights under high street lights
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| She walks alone the long way home
|
| And oh, she’s a troubled soul
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| Oh so troubled but nobody knows
|
| Looks like his armour’s old
|
| Carrying chinks that his father used to own
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| And when he hits the bottle it definitely shows
|
| He’s a Machiavellian in a rebellion
|
| I wish I could see, I would so follow
|
| And oh, he’s a terrible state
|
| Oh so terrible, drowning in hate
|
| But oh, when you see him
|
| He’s smiling at the ceiling
|
| And telling you he’s never growing old
|
| And oh, when you see her
|
| She smiles when you greet her
|
| And tells you that she’s never alone
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| As long as St Christopher’s here
|
| As long as St Christopher’s here
|
| As long as St Christopher’s here
|
| As long as St Christopher’s here
|
| While the young professionals city square mile
|
| Worry for the first time in quite a while
|
| She smirks then cursed, let the bourgeois burn
|
| More concerned with a friend who is wild
|
| Encouraged by guys I don’t trust
|
| And I say leave 'em alone or I’ll visit your home
|
| Uh oh, he’s a loveable rogue
|
| We’ll all be responsible when he goes
|
| But oh, when you see him
|
| He’s smiling at the ceiling
|
| And telling you he’s never growing old
|
| And oh, when you see her
|
| She smiles when you greet her
|
| And tells you that she’s never alone
|
| As long as St Christopher’s here
|
| As long as St Christopher’s here
|
| As long as St Christopher’s here
|
| As long as St Christopher’s here |