A Small Plot Of Land Lyrics by David Bowie

A Small Plot Of Land Lyrics

    Poor soul
    Spit upon that
    Poor soul
    He never knew what hit him
    And it hit him so

    Poor dunce
    He pushed back the pigmen
    The Barbs laughed
    The fool is dead

    Poor dunce
    He's less than within us
    The brains talk
    But the will to live is dead
    And prayer can't
    Travel so far these days
    The talk of your life
    Standing so near
    To innocent eyes
    Poor dunce

    Swings thru the tunnels
    And claws his way
    Is small life so manic
    Are these really the days

    Poor dunce
    Poor dunce

    Poor soul
    Poor soul
    Poor soul

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