Her hair's a golden ocean, shining
purity in waves.
Her voice is like the songbird sings,
so thoughtlessly in tune,
Her eyes a futurist's computer, fitting
the whole world in a spoon,
Though none of these are signs that I
have never seen before
In the ranks of people whose praises I'm not singing anymore.
I really don't think that she's worth
the risk,
But I'm gonna get old if I don't take
one quick.
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