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Dry heave doubt |
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From a little dragon's mouth |
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Split lip and split tongue |
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Finally, cross eyed |
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She stands next to the cigarrette machine |
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"This device has got it made," she thinks. |
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It has a cast iron stomach |
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But a candle for a heart |
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Odd the way the very stuff falls out |
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Hard the way it makes you doubt |
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This thing leaps up and complains, full of bile |
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Not even starcrossed, just unlucky |
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Odd how the very stuff falls out |
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Hard the way it makes you smile |
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This thing leaps up and complains |
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Not even starcrossed, just unlucky |