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 Well 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