| Daisy and Lily, lazy and silly
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| Walk by the shore of the warm, grassy sea
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| Talking once more neath a swan-bosomed tree
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| Rose castles fourelles, those bustles where swells
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| Each foam bell of ermine they roam and determine
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| What fashions have been and what fashions will be
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| What tartan leaves born what crinolines worn
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| Yeah
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| Queer, Queer
|
| Queer, Queer
|
| By green (thefis) pelisses or farlahine blue
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| Like the thin plaided leaves that castle crags grew
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| Or velours d’afrande on the water gods' land
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| Her hair seemed gold trees on the honey cell sand
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| When the thickest gold spangles on
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| Deep water seen were like twanging guitar
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| And like cold mandoline and the nymphs of great caves
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| With hair like gold waves of Venus wore (Farta) fine
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| Yeah
|
| Queer, Queer
|
| Queer, Queer
|
| Wild fire passion and impossible temper
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| The nymph tagliongrisi the ondine wear
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| Plaided Victoria and thin clementine
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| Like the crinolined waterfalls nymphs wear beneath shawls
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| Elegant parasols floating are seen
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| The amazons wear balzarine blue |