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Beneath your thick skin, there must have been a creature |
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Controlling you like a marionette robot. |
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Or else how could you have said those things? |
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Or else how could I have stopped your heart? |
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I did the autopsy with my scalpel |
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And found that, yes, my brand new theory was true. |
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And the creature was a nasty bugger |
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And she bit my arm clear right through, |
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But now I know that wasn't really you, Girl Number Two. |
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But now I know that wasn't really you. |
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"The death of Girl Number Two," read the first line, |
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Written by a fond paper columnist, |
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"actually happened in the 20's |
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And since she's been inhabited by an oddly whimsical creature. |
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She was a marionette to its hand." |
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Full Stop. And then the whole story. |
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And everyone sighed when it ran. |
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But now I know that wasn't really you, Girl Number Two. |
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But now I know that wasn't really you. |