| He was a silent child who played on a white carpet
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| In the main room of the Nevermore Brothel
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| Lady, his mother, was sitting, knitting under a blanket
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| In the dimming light of the Nevermore Brothel
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| He was working on a giant toy, a kind of great machine
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| And asked his mother «Why are you my mom?»
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| She replied and told him that she’d always been mean
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| To him as if he’d been a grown-up
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| The boy then stopped and went to kiss his mother’s hand
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| Sat at her side, the woman then laughed out:
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| «You carry your soul like a broken arm
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| In a loosened white and stained scarf "
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| She stretched her legs and let her head fall back
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| On the green couch of the Nevermore Brothel
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| As she was looking at him, his eyes turned black
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| He stood and beat her in the Nevermore Brothel
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| From the door came the father in his old costume
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| And then he… Then he jumped on his son
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| And then he strangled him!
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| The mother then broke a bottle of cheap perfume
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| As if to say «I'm quite fed up with my knit.
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| And… Anyway… You are BOTH as BORING as my SILLY WORK!
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| I’d rather DIE right now, my life is done!
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| MY LIFE IS DONE!»
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| Daddy dropped his son and laughed mouth wide
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| In the main room of the Nevermore Brothel
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| The son, cheerful, ran to his mother’s side
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| And danced around her in the Nevermore Brothel |