I spy for the "Spirit of Curiosity"
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All the scandals of each vain monstrosity
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I gossip and I pry and I insinuate
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If the failure is great
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Then it tends to fascinate
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A tornado dropped a funnel cloud with twenty tons of rain
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Though she had the attention span of warm cellophane
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Her lovers fell like skittles in a 10-pin bowling lane
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But nothing could compare with the explosion of fame
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So you jumped back with alarm
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Every Elvis has his army
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Every rattlesnake his charm
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Can you still hear me?
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Am I coming through just fine?
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Your memory was buried in simple box of pine
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[Chorus:]
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Did her green eyes seduce you and make you get so weak?
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Was there fire engine red that she left upon your cheek?
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It's such a shame you had to break the heart
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You could have counted on but the last thing you need is another...Episode of blonde
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Revolving like a jeweller's figure on a music box
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Spangled curtain parted and night-club scene unlocks
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Pinned and fixed and fastened in a follow spot
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Arms thrown out to everyone, she's giving all she's got
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To the last gasp of a wounded bandeon
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Tiny man imploring to the ceiling fan
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This stolen feeling
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Amplified up through a busted speaker
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Blaring, blasting, advertising, distorted beyond reason
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Into the street where petty crime-coats shadow panic drunkards,
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Half out of the taxi cab the barker seized my elbow
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He thought I was another lonely, likely pilgrim looking for St. Telmo
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[Chorus]
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I tried to keep a straight face but you know it never pays
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He would stare into those eyes and then vacation in her gaze
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She was a cute little ruin that he pulled out of the rubble
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Now they are both living in a soft soap bubble
|
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The film producer's contemplating, entertaining suicide
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The picture crumpled in his fist, his runaway child bride
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The timepiece stretched across his wrist
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She couldn't care less cast aside
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The scent that so repelled him that he swore: "insecticide"
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And there's farewell note to mother
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That will conclude "your loving Son"
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"Oh, tell your other children not to do as I have done"
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[Chorus]
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So an artist drags a toothbrush across the first thing that he sees
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And names the painting "Christ's Last Exit into Purgatory"
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Receiving secret messages from an alien intelligence
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Paying off his stalker it's a legitimate expense
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So paste up pictures of those shrill and hollow girls
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With puckered lips
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She's a trophy on your arm
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A magnet for your money clip
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The moral of this story is the sorry tale to say
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They're pieced with links of chains so they can never run away
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-----------------
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Episode Of Blonde
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Elvis Costello |