| She sings along to sailor’s song
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| In a dress that she made
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| When she’s gone I sing along
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| But it doesn’t sound the same
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| Oh Nouel, you sing so well
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| Sing only for me
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| Fickle and changeable
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| Though I may always be
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| I pulled a thorn from her tiny paw
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| Her feet were unclean
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| Fetch water, blessed twice
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| And hand a sponge to me
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| I do well to serve Nouel
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| Whatever service I may be
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| Fickle and changeable
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| Weighing down on me
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| She speaks a word and it gently turns
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| To perfect metaphor
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| She likes to say I only play
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| When I know what I’m playing for
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| Oh Nouel, you know me well
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| And I didn’t even show you the scar
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| Fickle and changeable
|
| Semper femina
|
| She’d like to be the kind of free
|
| Women still can’t be alone
|
| How I wish I could hit the switch
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| That keeps you from getting gone
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| Oh Nouel, it hurts like hell
|
| When you’re so afraid to die
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| Semper femina
|
| So am I
|
| She lays herself across the bed
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| The Origine du monde
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| Slight of shoulder, long and legged
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| Her hair a faded blonde
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| Oh Nouel, you sit so well
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| A thousand artists' muse
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| But you’ll be anything you choose
|
| Fickle and changeable are you
|
| And long may that continue
|
| I do well to serve Nouel
|
| My only guiding star
|
| Fickle and changeable
|
| Semper femina |