| The blue house at the corner of Twilight and State
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| Four storeys, soaring turrets, floors of wood parquet
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| And owls, so many owls, snowy, horned and screech
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| Thousands of owls, all flapping their wings
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| How I love the marble staircase, the claw-footed tubs
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| The room of rare orchids, the glass hall for my guns
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| Statues of pharaohs, 20 feet tall, crystal chandeliers, rare paintings of clowns
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| But the owls, so many owls, I’m never alone
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| The owls make this blue house a home
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| How peaceful it is to watch them soar
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| Through the palm-tree ballroom with its gold-paneled doors
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| And as I sit by the fire and slip off my boots
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| They perch on harpoons and the stuffed heads of moose
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| The apothecary closet is lined with shelves
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| But deeper than expected and slanted as well
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| How long have I been here searching for my pills
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| As the ceiling grows upward and the walls start to swell
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| Oh, the owls, the owls, with their feathers of silk
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| The owls they mock me and have stolen my pills
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| Oh the owls, the owls, with their shining green eyes
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| The owls will save me, if not today then tonight |