The Unfairness Of Angels

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As Keane once sang “somewhere only we know”
But you've never even been to Wilko

Breathing words of ice like a dead Jon Snow
But you can't take words back to Wilko

It's a boring game, 0-0. Zero-Zero
Yet we take the penalties, but not in Wilko

You're like trick birthday candles, that kids blow
But we know when a deals a deal from Wilko

Blah, Blah, Blah the Economy will grow
But you can't get interests rates from Wilko

Standing there arms folded, legs akimbo
Like us folk on Saturdays queuing at Wilko

As the lies develops like fungus in a big toe
You've lost the audience of us that shop in Wilko

It's just a load of bollocks a in a manifesto
Nothing betting than a Catalogue from Wilko

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