| Un café au lait un s’il vous plaît
|
| the verde d’or on the side
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| the corner sit by the window
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| the sameness he thinks is implied.
|
| Oh, he thinks that he is so invisible
|
| disguised in a suit and a tie.
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| We will never belong here
|
| we’ve just signed up for the ride
|
| we’re no longer sure where home is
|
| homesickness is our only guide,
|
| our only guide.
|
| Well, they told us back home it’s the small things
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| the small things that get you the stare,
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| the way that you curry your package
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| the jewelry, the style of the hair.
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| I guessed that he slept through the lectures
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| when they told him he had problems there.
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| We never did belong here
|
| we’ve just signed up for the pay,
|
| serve your planets a bit of adventure
|
| but there’s so much they just didn’t say
|
| Oh no, they didn’t tell us.
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| The natives are only suspicious
|
| nobody is calling the cops,
|
| but the surprises just keep arising
|
| the starring never quite stops.
|
| But he is a man with a will and a mission
|
| he’ll keep plugging away until he drops.
|
| We will never belong here
|
| we just signed up for the ride
|
| we’re no longer sure where home is
|
| home sickness is our only guide
|
| our only guide. |