| I am teacher who works on a farm
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| Immunity barcode tattooed on my arm
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| But the children must eat, education can wait
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| I coax up the carrots til quarter to eight
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| And if I don’t farm then nobody eats
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| And if nobody eats we’re in pain
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| What if someone declared a black death but nobody came?
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| And the Ibis hotel is a hospital now
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| The conference centre’s a morgue
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| The city’s so quiet, I can’t get used to it
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| The police have turned into the Borg
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| Saw a lonely flaneur with a drone overhead
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| With a thin metal voice that shrieked out as it said:
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| «You have the choice to be thrown in a cell or go home»
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| Empty Paris, empty Berlin
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| Empty London, New York, empty Dublin
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| Empty Lagos, Johannesburg, Moscow, LA
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| Empty Adelaide, empty Belgrade
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| And I dig on the farm, this tattoo on my arm
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| Proving I’ve come through the plague
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| And when this squeeze is over and we all recover
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| Perhaps we will drink lemonade
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| I had a partner but she’s disappeared
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| And I’m not used to living alone
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| Well the hard work all starts when the loneliness hurts
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| And sometimes I wish we’d both gone
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| And I’m scared of the government, scared of the Russians
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| And scared of these criminal pricks
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| When I head out to work at a quarter to five
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| They all watch for signs that I’m sick
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| Where once there was motion now there’s just stubbornness
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| Where once was health we’re just ill
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| Feral rats have invaded the Quai de la Monnaie
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| Foxes took over Café Kitsune
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| In the Palais Royale it’s now head-high with weeds
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| Food rots in the Carrousel du Louvre
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| In Ikea I see only chaos and fear
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| A ghost town where nobody moves
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| Empty Paris, empty Berlin
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| Empty London, New York, empty Dublin
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| Empty Lagos, Johannesburg, Moscow, LA
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| Empty Adelaide, empty Belgrade
|
| And I dig on the farm, this tattoo on my arm
|
| Proving I’ve come through the plague
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| When this squeeze is over and we all recover
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| Perhaps I will drink lemonade |