In chocolate town, all the trains are painted brown
And the silver paper of the rapper
There's a dapper little man
And he wears a wax moustache
That he twists with nicotine fingers
As he drops his cigarette ash
And someone comes and sweeps it up
And then he doves his cap
And there's a rat in someone's bedroom
And there's shits in 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 fire
And the moon to problem families
From the south up to the north
Mother's crying over some soft soap operative horse
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
Who would blast the warden home
Like a little boy in a matchbox

Like a picture of Prince William
In the arms of John the Pope
There's a world of good intentions
And pissy in their eyes
There's sedated homes of England
And there's the vandal eyes
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 of patterns
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
Until they feel like knocking down the little palaces
Until they feel like knocking down the little palaces
Until they feel like knocking down the little palaces