| It’s a holy place if you see things that way
|
| When they rattle your bones and the analysts play
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| From his backward collar on a worn-out book
|
| Another working class poet with an abstract look
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| So take me up to the edge of the world
|
| And push me over again
|
| Lead me up to the edge of the world
|
| There comes a time
|
| Now, shake your hair and rattle your cans
|
| It’s a service funded by a self-made man
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| Talks to victims and industrial spies
|
| He feeds you tobacco for the four-minute mile
|
| So take me up to the edge of the world
|
| And push me over again
|
| Lead me up to the edge of the world
|
| There comes a time
|
| With some strange god and a good right hand
|
| We can chase the ghost from the promised land
|
| If the promised land turns out as it should
|
| We can flood the place with consumer goods
|
| When the African general meets the bingo queen
|
| And the collective farmer joins the teenage dream
|
| When the miracle worker saves the chat show host
|
| And the caveman paints another holy ghost
|
| So take me up to the edge of the world
|
| And push me over again
|
| Lead me up to the edge of the world
|
| There comes a time
|
| So take me up to the edge of the world
|
| And push me over again
|
| Lead me up to the edge of the world
|
| There comes a time
|
| We can storm the walls in our leisure wear
|
| While we trap the beast in his stormy lair
|
| Then we’ll smooth his image and we’ll save his soul
|
| While we fill our schools with the gold we stole
|
| With some strange god and a good right hand
|
| We can chase the ghost from the promised land
|
| If the promised land turns out as it should
|
| We can flood the place with consumer goods |