| Jianni’s from Australia
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| But she’s here to stay
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| With her hair like golden sunlight
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| On a summers day
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| Her eyes stole the sun from Sydney
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| And there it remains
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| It shines through her skin and laughter
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| Makes the shadows sway
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| That Chinese blood of hers is reaching for the fire
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| It was lit by Durrell books, full of poetry or higher
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| Her brain is full of words from all the poets she admires
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| She gets by fine
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| Jianni doesn’t like the cold
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| It once made her weep
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| She was forced to wait for a night bus
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| When she needed sleep
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| But she was out the next night
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| The cold won’t keep her down
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| You can’t but feel warm inside
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| When Jianni is around
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| That Chinese blood of hers is reaching for the fire
|
| It was lit by Durrell books full of poetry or higher
|
| Her brain is full of words from all the poets she admires
|
| She gets by fine
|
| Jianni’s got her own place now
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| The cheapest place, she took
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| She travels with a trunk of clothes
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| And an Allen Ginsberg book
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| She gets itchy thighs sometimes
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| And she’ll let you know
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| Jianni’s beautiful
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| She’s all the boys in tow
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| That Chinese blood of hers is reaching for the fire
|
| It was lit by Durrell books full of poetry or higher
|
| Her brain is full of words from all the poets she admires
|
| She gets by fine
|
| Jianni’s from Australia
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| And she fell in love
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| But it stops her from being happy
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| So she gave it up
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| And love and loss are a perfect way
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| To douse a flame
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| But jianni’s soul is burning
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| She’ll burn again
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| That Chinese blood of hers is reaching for the fire
|
| It was lit by Durrell books full of poetry or higher
|
| That brain is full of words from all the poets she admires
|
| She gets by fine |