| Little Arabella, she’s always out of her head
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| She lives in a daydream, she never understands what she said
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| She carries a flower, long after everyone said it’s dead
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| And if you see her, you’ll never believe, her head
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| Little Arabella, she giggles away into bed
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| A skirt around her ankles, smoke comin' out of her head
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| She wakes in the morning, looks and there’s nobody in her bed
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| And if you meet her, you’ll never believe, her head
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| Talks in riddles, talks in rhymes
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| She reads the stars and looks for signs
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| She is a problem of the times
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| I’m rather glad she isn’t mine
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| Little Arabella, she giggles away into bed
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| A skirt around her ankles, smoke comin' out of her head
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| She wakes in the morning, looks and there’s nobody to be found
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| And if you meet her, you’re sure to be, her next ground
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| Arabella, that’s Arabella
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| Arabella out of her head
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| Arabella out of her head
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| Arabella out of her head
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| Arabella out of her head
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| Have you ever met a bird, quite like little Arabella?
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| Course you have, she’s sitting right next to you |