Little Palaces

In chocolate town all the trains are painted brown
On the silver paper of the wrapper
Theres a dapper little man
And he wears a wax moustache
That he twists with nicotine fingers
As he drops his cigarette ash
And someone comes and sweeps it up And then he doffs his cap
And theres a rat in someones bedroom
And theyre shutting someones trap
And theyll soon be pulling down the little palaces
And the doors swing back and forward, from the past into the present
And the bedside crucifixion turns from wood to phosphorescent.
And theyre moving problem families from the south up to the north,
Mothers crying over some soft soap opera divorce,
And you say you didnt do it, but you know you did of course,
And theyll soon be pulling down the little palaces.
Its like shouting in a matchbox, filled with plasterboard and hope,
Like a picture of prince william in the arms of john the pope.
Theres a world of good intentions, and pity in their eyes,
The sedated homes of england, are theirs to vandalize.
So you knock the kids about a bit, because theyve got your name,
And you knock the kids about a bit, until they feel the same.
And they feel like knocking down the little palaces.
Youre the twinkle in your daddys eye, a name you spray and scribble,
You made the girls all turn their heads, and in turn they made you miserable.
To be the heir apparent, to the kingdom of the invisible.
So you knock the kids about a bit, because theyve got your name,
And you knock the kids about a bit, until they feel the same.
And they feel like knocking down the little palaces.