| My amazon six-triggered bride
|
| Now searching for a place to hide
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| Still sees the truth quite easily
|
| But shrouds all else in mystery
|
| While madmen in top hats and tails
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| Impale themselves on six-inch nails
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| And some arabian also-ran
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| Impersonates a watering can
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| Some santa claus-like face of note
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| Entreats my ears to set afloat
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| My feeble sick and weary brain
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| And I am overcome with shame
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| And hide inside my overcoat
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| And hurriedly begin to quote
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| While some arabian sheikh most grand
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| Impersonates a hot-dog stand
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| The red cross ambulance outside
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| Can only mean that I must hide
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| til dusk and finally the night
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| When I will make a hasty flight
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| Across the sea and far away
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| To where the weary exiles stay
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| And some arabian oil-well
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| Impersonates a padded cell |