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She doesn't eat, she doesn't sleep |
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for if she slept then she would dream about this: |
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a place where she'd be treated with respect and sympathy. |
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The American girl |
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set her sights on the old world, |
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thinking in the old world she'd find honesty. |
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And so she blew in like a breath of fresh air, |
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captivating all around her; |
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and as she passed she left a trail of heartbreak in her wake. |
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The American girl |
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cut her teeth on the old world, |
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all at once the old world hers upon a plate |
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and fascinated by her face |
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the old world sealed her fate. |
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She felt she'd come home across the sea, |
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this was where she was meant to be. |
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She didn't understand the potency of envy |
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so ingrained in the culture |
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and soon she found contempt had grown from her familiarity. |
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She doesn't eat, she doesn't sleep, |
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she lies awake and wonders how this happened. |
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The American girl |
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stubbed her toe on the old world |
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and the old world's unforgiving rigidity. |
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Well times got hard |
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and talk came cheap; |
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she found that finally |
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something wasn't right across the sea... |
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now she's stateless in all but her memory. |