| Beneath your thick skin
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| There must have been a creature
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| Controlling you like a marionette robot
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| Or else how could you have said those things?
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| Or else how could I have stopped your heart?
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| Did the autopsy with my scalpel
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| And found that, yes, my brand new theory was true
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| And the creature was a nasty bugger
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| And she bit my arm clear right through
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| But now I know that wasn’t really you, girl number two
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| But now I know that wasn’t really you
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| «The death of girl number two,» read the first line
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| Written by a fond paper columnist
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| «actually happened in the 20's
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| And since she’s been inhabited by an oddly whimsical creature
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| She was a marionette to its hand.»
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| Full stop, and then the whole story
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| Seeing everyone sighed when it ran
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| But now I know that wasn’t really you, girl number two
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| But now I know that wasn’t really you
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| But now I know that wasn’t really you, girl number two
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| But now I know that wasn’t really you |