| Now you may have observed if you walk into a wall
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| You get a certain sensation of reality
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| When you take a look through your memory book
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| You may perceive a certain rhythmic regularity
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| The crazy things your mind gets up to when you’re away
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| Throwing clouds of rain over brightest day
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| There was once a little man
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| He worked all day and slept all the night
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| He looked at the sun
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| It didn’t seem bright, it didn’t seen right
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| He wondered did the world go rolling along on its own
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| Or did some spirit move it with a black cat bone
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| And he set out to find the causes behind
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| The events in the world
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| And the seasons of the mind
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| So he asked his wife about it, and his wife said yes
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| Come back and see me if it’s time to know less
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| You do too much aquestioning of the world at large
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| Everybody knows the politician’s in charge
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| So he went to the Kinghouse just the next day
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| To see that politician with his hair dyed grey
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| Jump down turn around blow you up or kiss the ground
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| Trying to be the president of the land so gay
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| He had false pretendies, I had to love his style
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| Bound to make some havoc with that violin smile
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| Hey, Salvador Dali, make a walking talking something
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| You paint some freaky pictures, make a likeness of that man
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| Muchos dollars if you can
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| So the little man asked the politician who makes the plan
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| Who makes the plan, what happens to me
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| And who has the key
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| Now you are asking me who makes the scene
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| His highness King Gold and Madam Silver his queen
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| They keep it all arustling with the dollars and pounds
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| And everyone knows that money makes the world go round
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| So the little man asked King Gold and Madam Silver
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| Come tell me what you can
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| And King Gold said, lifting his golden voice from his golden bed
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| Now money is something, it’s a basic flow
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| And me I am the archetype of jewels and dough
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| I do a lot of talking both slow and fast
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| But me make decisions, no of course it’s the past
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| For the past is something, we all have some
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| And universal history is a bundle of fun
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| Now I’m getting sleepy, starting to nod
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| If you want to check the picture, want to check the picture
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| Want to check it, check it with God
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| And so the little man climbed up on a rickety ladder, to the heavenly lands
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| And he shed a tear, 'it's all so queer and it doesn’t seem clear'
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| Now God was sitting easy in a heavenly chair
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| Breathing deep and lazy on the heavenly air
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| The little man got near him just to get right from wrong
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| Said 'God are you responsible for all that goes on'
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| God looked up from having a heavenly think
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| He gave that little questioner a heavenly wink, saying
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| 'men have coloured me with the colours of their minds
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| So I find
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| They used me as an excuse for all kinds of goofs
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| And for crimes of all kinds
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| All your so hard facts painted thinly on the void
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| Why were you not more pleasantly employed
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| Anything you want to do, I’m happy if you make it go right
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| And it’s true if it makes you happy you know it makes the
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| World more bright
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| And you shall have liberty
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| It always was yours anyway
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| You’re one of my kind, you’re an infinite mind
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| You make each new day
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| There’s nothing more I can say' |