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