Little Palaces

In chocolate town all the trains are painted brown In the silver paper of the wrapper There's a dapper little man And he wears a wax mustache 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 there's a rat in someone's bedroom And they're shutting someone's trap And they'll 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 they're moving problem families From the South up to the North Mother's crying over some Soft soap opera divorce And you say you didn't do it But you know you did of course And they'll soon be pulling down the little palaces It's like shouting in a matchbox Filled with plasterboard and hope Like a picture of Prince William In the arms of John the Pope There's 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 they've 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 You're the twinkle in your daddy's 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 they've 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