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(brooker / reid) |
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She wandered through the garden fence |
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And said, 'i've brought at great expense |
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A potion guaranteed to bring |
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Relief from all your suffering.' |
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And though i said, 'you don't exist,' |
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She grasped me firmly by the wrist |
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And threw me down upon my back |
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And strapped me to her torture rack |
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And, without further argument |
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I found my mind was also bent |
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Upon a course so devious |
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It only made my torment worse |
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She said, 'i see you cannot speak |
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Is it your voice that is too weak? |
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Is it your tongue that is to blame? |
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Maybe you cannot speak for shame. |
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Or has your brain been idle too, |
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And now it will not think for you?' |
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I hastened to make my reply |
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But found that i could only lie |
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And like a fool i believed myself |
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And thought i was somebody else |
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But she could see what i was then |
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And left me on my own again |