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You can repeat it as often as you like, |
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the story won't ring true. |
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You've been inventing a cocktail of confections |
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no-one believes but you. |
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Contradictory fictions together form a track: |
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once the words have been spoken they're out |
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and you can't take them back. |
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Opinions you've ventured adrift upon the wind, |
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no council is kept your own, |
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As quiet as you whisper your thoughts can't be preserved |
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for one person's ears alone. |
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There's always an eavesdropping multitude in on your words. |
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You always were |
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overheard. |
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Nothing's secret now, |
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nothing's safe and sound, |
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nothing's private. |
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You didn't mean it to come out as it did |
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but the narrative still escaped. |
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Benign indiscretions and confidences spilled, |
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they've got them all down on tape |
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and sooner or later they'll hold you to account. |
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I hear you've been spouting |
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all kinds of poppycock |
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to any prepared to hear. |
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Better be careful, |
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don't speak so loud or so clear. |
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Remember whatever you say can't be unsaid, |
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not once it's tripped off the tongue. |
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A flippant aside might in later light be taken |
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as proof of a smoking gun. |
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And so here's a maxim for life you'd do well to observe - |
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choose your words |
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as if you were constantly overheard. |