| If you want to see and be seen, then be seen
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| Your dress is dark red and your opening eyes are bright green
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| Make a scene, but don’t lie on the bed
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| Laid out like you’re dead, because honey, you’re murdering me
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| Be a little sheep learning who’ll shear and who’ll feed
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| The hands come and they leave. |
| Be hands holding a knife
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| Be a being on two feet, with his heart trembling
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| Butchering for a king he believes in though he’s never seen
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| Be the princess in that stone tower, crying for that handsome butcher’s plight
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| (And, as some princess might, she still calls him a knight)
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| But the best thing for you would be queen, so be queen
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| You’re all that I need. |
| Though I know that it never can be
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| I’d be pleased to post your decrees
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| To fall at your knees
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| To name all your streets and to sit down and weep when you’re carried back
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| through them
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| And set down to sleep, and to lie by your side for sublime centuries
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| (Until we crumble to dust when we’re crushed by a single sunbeam) |