Somebody stop her, the lifter, the runner
The girl with the gold in her mouth
They caught her at London Waterloo station
Strung up on a Ferris wheel
She used to lose pageants; «Pick of the Litter»
The newspapers screamed from their racks
Pictures at seven, nineteen eighty-something
The waltz on her father’s shoes
No more losing the war, Karen
No more losing the war, Karen
But I really knew her in an after-pub-closing way
Falling down, crawling drunk
Laughing like children with sugared up gullets
I rue this day
No more losing the war, Karen (Oh, Karen)
No more losing the war
You got me all frustrated
In an old-fashioned way
Easy does it, rider
I’ve had a long, long day
No more losing the war, Karen
No more losing the war, Karen