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Elizabeth Stride, born with clear blue eyes open wide |
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Plays in fields of flowers red and white |
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Games of seek and hide |
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Papa never lets her from his sight |
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The cows and horses breed |
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Father plants the seed and visits late at night |
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She dreams of living in a world apart |
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Old enough to bleed |
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Human need, must find a human heart |
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Servant girl in town, belly swelling round |
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Stillborn child delivered from the crime of birth |
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East End lights, dosshouse hopes and Queen's Head nights soaked in gin |
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A broken piece of comb to please the gentlemen |
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A scrap of velvet rag, a metal spoon |
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The bounty of "sin" |
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Footsteps in the dark |
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A stalker or a mark follows her path |
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Wheezing in the soot-blackened air |
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Shrouded in the fog, he's standing there |
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She can feel him stare |
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Someone's there |
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She can feel him stare |
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He's standing there |
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She can feel him stare |
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Long Liz Stride, skirts spread against a scarlet cloud |
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Eyes open wide, her blood feeds the stones of Dutfield's yard |