| He had stayed in the bottom of a wardrobe
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| For two years, he had not made anybody laugh
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| Waiting in his black room hoping that the door would open
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| He had not aged one day
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| His face had kept all it’s features
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| And his eyes were shinning with the oncoming of the show
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| Finally the day so much hoped for had come
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| He could see his rebirth
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| First his head tactfully rose like a child still asleep
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| Then his chest and slowly his arms and his legs
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| I could see he was in good running order
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| Softly he made a smile of satisfaction at the puppeter
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| Everybody wanted to see the show which looked like a feast
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| And when the lights went out he appeared inq moonbeam
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| He was dress in white with a red rose on his heart!
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| He did pirouettes
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| He mimed a rope dancer
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| Walking in the air
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| A loving violinist playing the music of the fair
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| A little girl with a white balloon winked at him
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| The puppet stopped, and slowly he pulled the threads which
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| He did the same with his arms and his head
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| Now he could do his show all alone
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| The children were charing harder and harder
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| The crowd was delirious. |
| He could see he was in good
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| Running order
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| Softly he made a smile of satisfaction at the puppeteer
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| Before leaving the stage
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| He pulled the red rose attached to his heart
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| And he threw to the little girl’s feet
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| She let go off her white balloon and took the rose… |