| Birds
|
| Birds
|
| This is not a cornhusk doll
|
| Dipped in blood in the moonlight
|
| Like what happen in America
|
| This is us
|
| Our eyesides snagged
|
| Dipped in mob in the daylight
|
| Like what happen in America
|
| The breasts are still heavy
|
| The legs long and straight
|
| The upper lip remains short
|
| The teeth are too small
|
| The eyeside is green
|
| The hair long and black
|
| Still coming through
|
| Still coming through
|
| She knows this room
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| She can navigate it in the dark
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| She entered the Palazzo at night by a side door
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| To ascend to a lift in the upper floor
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| She lies on the bed
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| Looking up not yet seeing
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| The signs of the zodiac painted in gold
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| On the blue vaulted ceiling
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| His enormous eyes as he arrives
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| Coming nearer in the surrounding darkness
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| His strange beliefs about the moon
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| Its influence upon men of affairs
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| The danger of its cold light on your face
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| While you were sleeping
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| She’ll eclipse it with her head
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| Stroke him 'til he sleeps
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| Until he has nothing to do among men of affairs
|
| Sometime before dawn
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| Her bare feet cross the floor
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| She gazes from the window
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| At the fountain in the courtyard
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| Sometimes I feel like a swallow
|
| A swallow which by some mistake
|
| Has gotten into an attic
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| And knocks its head against the walls in terror
|
| This is not a rabbit skinned
|
| With a body of silver
|
| Like what happen in America
|
| This is not a terrapin
|
| With its shell torn away
|
| Like what happen in America
|
| The breasts are still heavy
|
| The legs long and straight
|
| The upper lip remains short
|
| The teeth are too small
|
| The eyeside is green
|
| The hair long and black
|
| Still coming through
|
| Still coming through
|
| The mood soon changed
|
| In the clear morning air
|
| A man came up towards the body
|
| And poked it with a stick
|
| It rocked swiftly
|
| And twisted around at the end of the rope
|
| Finer than a hair from every side
|
| Finer than a hair
|
| Birds
|
| Birds
|
| This is just a cornhusk doll
|
| Dipped in blood in the moonlight
|
| This is just a cornhusk doll
|
| This morning in my room
|
| A little swallow was trapped
|
| It flew around desperately
|
| Until it fell exhausted on my bed
|
| I picked it up
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| So as not to frighten it
|
| I opened the window
|
| Then I opened my hand |