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| Here her head, she lay Until she'd rise and say : "I'm starved of mirth; Let's go and trip a dwarf" Oh, what to be done with her ? Oh, what to be done with her ? Oh ... Ice water for blood With neither heart or spine And then just To pass time; let us go and rob the blind What to be done with her ? I ask myself : What to be said of her ? Oh ... But when she calls me, I do not walk, I run Oh, when she calls, I do not walk, I run Oh ... Oh ... Oh ... |
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