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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