Tekster: Elvis Costello. King of America. Little Palaces.

In chocolate town all the trains are painted brown
On the silver paper of the wrapper there's a dapper little man
And he wears a wax mustache that he twists with nicotine fingers

As he drops his cigarette ash and someone comes and sweeps it up
And then he doffs his cap and there's a rat in someones bedroom
And they're shutting someones 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 phosphorescent
And they're moving problem families from the south up to the north

Mothers crying over some soft soap opera divorce
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, filled with plasterboard and hope

Like a picture of Prince William in the arms of John the Pope
There's a world of good intentions and pity in their eyes
The sedated homes of England are their's to vandalize

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 apparent, to the kingdom of the invisible

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