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Charlize Theron

Hey, I'm a girl, and we like to play dress-up.

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You walk, and look like me

You walk, and look like me,
Your eyes directed down.
I also used to lower mine!
Hey you, passer by, stop!

Read-when you've gathered
A bouquet of buttercups and poppies,
That I was called Marina
And how old I was.

Don't think that this is a grave,
That I will appear,scary...
I myself loved too much
To laugh, when I shouldn't have!

And the blood would come to my face
And my hair was curly...
You passer by, I also was!
You passer by, stop!

Break yourself off a wild stem
And after it a berry,-
No wild strawberry is larger or sweeter
Than one from a graveyard.

Only don't stand gloomily,
Dropping your head on your chest,
Think about me easily,
As easily then forget!

How the sun's ray shines upon you!
You're all covered in golden dust...
-Don't let it disturb you,
My voice from underground.

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Song - A Girl With Hair Like Yours

A girl with hair like yours
Was standing on the bus
She hurled me back into
A sudden swirl of us
I couldn’t push straight through
I couldn’t turn away
We kissed down by the shore
In cold and salty spray

A girl with hair like yours
She turned on all the lights
She broke down all the doors
Invaded all my nights
She told me she was mine
then caught a flight to Spain
I danced around the gym
With you and Don McLean

A girl with hair like yours
Made everything less clear
I set sail for her shore
We walked down every street
She said she couldn’t stay
She said she couldn’t leave
then never said a word
Until we couldn’t breathe

A girl with hair like yours
She soothed me ‘til I bled
We’d walk that extra mile
Wherever darkness led
We crossed the oceans wide
And flew too near the sun
I thought we’d reach the light
When you were twenty one

A girl with hair like yours
was electricity
She lit some ancient fuse
With nails and chemistry
She broke into my veins
And left my heart in flames
We burned in darkness when
Our love was innocent
We danced across the bay
While Harry Nilsson played

It wasn’t so spectacular
Not blonde or black it’s true
And neither this or that colour
Just curly brown and hanging down
It got me wanting you

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Girl And Gun

“All that you need is a girl and a gun
if you making a film, ” said Jean-Luc Godard.
In the dark with a girl you can have as much fun
as a guy who’s been laid in a film that is noir,
but if, when you switch on the light, you discover
the girl isn’t loaded, walk out of the trailer,
and if she complains that you’ve been a bad lover,
take out a revolver with which you can nail her.

Inspired by Manohla Dargis’s review of Gustav Deutsch’s “Film 1st, a Girl & an Gun” in the December 2,2009 NYT (“The Old Clips, A Paradise Found and Lost”) :
To make a film, ” Jean-Luc Godard once memorably said, “all you need is a girl and a gun.” (A little money helps.) In “Film Ist. a Girl & a Gun, ” the Austrian director Gustav Deutsch complicates this witty, deceptively simple formula with a wealth of found footage (material shot by others for other purposes) borrowed from film archives from around the world. As the title suggests, there are girls (voluptuous, ecstatic, threatened) and there are guns (hard, phallic, threatening) along with something of a narrative. If the narrative that Mr. Deutsch has created is rather less thrilling than his mostly silent and often glorious images, this is nonetheless a story well worth considering, and watching. Using material gathered from the likes of the Imperial War Museum (in Britain) and the Kinsey Institute for Research in Sex, Gender and Reproduction (at Indiana University) , he has fashioned something of an origin story about cinema itself. It’s a tale that begins with an unidentified image of a woman in buckskin shooting at some targets and ends with a cowboy bandit pointing his gun at the camera, an image appropriated from Edwin S. Porter’s 1903 short, “The Great Train Robbery, ” one of the most famous in cinema history. Tucked between these loaded images, as it were, is a vision of cinematic paradise, found and lost.
Tumult of a kind pursues the shooting woman (nothing new there) in the form of a mesmerizing, mysterious shot of what looks like an archery target in flames and some text (“at the first Chaos came to be”) from “Theogony, ” an epic Greek poem by Hesiod about the origin of the world. The archery target gives way to fiery orange images of billowing smoke and some electronic thrumming. (The intermittent score tends to underscore the obvious.) The thrumming turns to droning, the smoke turns to lava, followed by more Hesiod (“wide-bosomed earth”) , a woman with bountiful breasts, “Paradeisos” (Greek for paradise) and naked beachfront frolickers…
Women turn out to be the fly in the ointment in “a Girl & a Gun.” (“Dead flies cause the ointment of the apothecary to send forth a stinking savor” or so it says in Ecclesiastes.) Among the many images that follow, many beautifully and floridly tinted, are sleeping, dreaming and fornicating clothed and unclothed women. In one early section, a woman drowsing in a steam room seems to dream of both an undulating jellyfish and a swimming man. In another section, a woman watches a man spin four strange dials hidden behind a cabinet, as if he were initiating her into a secret world. (On the soundtrack, you hear “she dies.”) A world, a subsequent shot suggests — of a woman reading a newspaper with the headline “Cine Monde” — that has been made from images…With “a Girl & a Gun, ” Mr. Deutsch brings in Eros and Thanatos to a seductive if familiar end.


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Emily Dickinson

Over and over, like a Tune


Over and over, like a Tune—
The Recollection plays—
Drums off the Phantom Battlements
Cornets of Paradise—

Snatches, from Baptized Generations—
Cadences too grand
But for the Justified Processions
At the Lord's Right hand.

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Girl and the Snake

Girl Beautiful!
Behind the girl and
Unknown to her
Snake beautiful! !

Aimed my pistol
Direct at the snake;
Screamed the girl
Pointing at me!

Gone was the snake
Scared it was;
Lonely I am
Languishing in jail!

Girl was beautiful
And so was the snake!
Who is my enemy
Girl or the snake?

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A Girl and Her Father

The thick dust
swimm in the air
The road burn
melting with ease

The two being
in perfect agony
The wise and young
twined merely

I gaze silently
the hurt creeping
I never be the young
odd tears streaming

I lost someone
that i never possesed
I curse something
that never happened

The role completed
Sheer happines
The scenes sliding
On heat of four wheels

Nothing about mischief
just a misfortune
Nothing extra ordinary
Just a girl and her father

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Chap Stick, Chapped Lips, And Things Like Chemistry

Ok, so, who doesn't own a cell phone
Who brought back their permission slip
Because I know nobody wants to stay home
While the rest of us go out and make a day of it
Cause theme parks are so much more fun when the sun's outside
And I lost my phone to the lake beneath the Batman ride
They're starting something, and I don't want to begin it
(I don't want to begin it)
They're looking for trouble, but with me it won't be found
(With me, won't be found)
And I regret that I'm completely out of daytime minutes
(I don't want to begin it)
And, so, I guess I'll have to wait a lot til 8 o'clock comes around
Ok, so, who doesn't have a cell phone
Well, I don't need to ask my friends
Because, I know mine was fastened to my jawbone
Thanks to all those nights and weekends
When it comes to relationships (I'm the dumbest one)
And I don't mean just with girls (I mean with everyone)
Your illustrations always point out just what's wrong with me
It's Chap Stick, and Chapped Lips, and things like Chemistry
It's Chap Stick, and Chapped Lips, and things like...
It's Chap Stick, and Chapped Lips, and things like...
It's Chap Stick, and Chapped Lips, and things like Chemistry
Can I relate to you the way you relate to me
Can you help me out with my chemistry
I don't want to be perceived the way I am
I just want to be perceived the way I am

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The Little Girl and The Moon

once upon a time there was a little girl.
she liked to sit outside at night and talk to the moon.
everynight she kept the moon company.
one night she noticed the moon seemed tired, so
she climbed upon the roof, to tell the moon a secret.
the old moon smiled, so she reaches up
takes the moon in her hands and puts him in her pocket.
then she climbs down and goes into her house, up the stairs
to her room.there she takes the moon out and lets lay on
her bed.for hours they talked, told secrets and giggled.
then they heard people asking where the moon was.
outside was so dark, they couldnt find their ways.
the old moon says to the little girl
'maybe you should put me back into the sky,
so the people can find their way home at night'.
the little girl she picks up the moon,
puts him back into her pocket.
she walks downstairs and goes outside.
it was very dark, but she wasnt afraid,
she had her friend the moon to help
show her the way.
she climbs back upon the roof, takes the moon out
of her pocket. holding him with both hands
she tells the moon'i love you,
we will still talk every night, but you must go back
give people light at nightime'.
she leans over kisses the moon goodnight.
then reaches back and tosses the moon
hard as she could back into the
nightime sky.
then the little girl and the moon hear, all the people
shouting and laughing.
after everything quietened down
the stars who were so happy the moon returned
all gave the moon kisses.
the little girl climbed down
with the moon lighting her way
went inside up to her room
took 1 last peek out
blowing the moon a big kiss goodnight.

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Victoria Abril

I'm a small and normal girl, and stories like mine no one likes to tell. Fortunately so, because I wouldn't like to play myself.

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A woman who looks like a girl and thinks like a man is the best sort, the most enjoyable to be and the most pleasurable to have and to hold.

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A Black Day

words are choppy
one afternoon like
a telegram
from a far country
they are old and
torn like an old dress
of a woman
seduced and raped

you ask how can
these words exist?
how can that woman
not exist?

you are with that
woman last night
she is old and
a broken memory
a choppy story
stuttering before
you and you listen
to this record of
history and you
cannot sleep and
you look at the sky
it is black and closed
and there is no opening
for the sun to come out
tomorrow morning

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Tonight Will Be Alright

Little darling
Where youve been so long
Ive been out here thinking about ya
And the feelings real strong
Well the time has come to celebrate
You and me girl so sounds great
Cause tonight will be alright
Oh baby
Little darling, come on
Lets take a ride
To a midnight honey town and set it on fire
We dont want to be mad
But we have to be cool
You and me girl
Lets break all the rules
Cause tonight will be alright
Oh my baby, Im gonna say it again
I can see us moving on
Down the highway
I can see us loving
Till our hearts desire
Anything you wanna do girl
You just tell me
Cause its alright, cause its alright
Little darling, telling you no use
Keep me thinking about you honey
My souls on fire
Well if you want me girl
And the games I play
Anythings alright, anything you say
Cause tonight will be alright
Alright, baby Ill say it again, alright
Alright, alright, alright, baby
We gonna make it alright
You and me baby, alright

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Games Two Can Play

I just looked to see the sun outside
It's shining so bright
A sun the clouds can't hide
Do you remember the time that you hear me say
I like to play games that two can play
Ah ha ha ha haaa
Oh oh oh oh oh oh
Whoa whoa whoa
Oh oh oh oh
No more
The juke box daddies been blowin' my mind
I ain't goin' nowhere I got lots of time
I'm fat as a cow oh how'd I ever get this way
I like to play games that two can play
Ah ha ha ha haaa
Oh oh oh oh oh oh
Whoa whoa whoa
Oh oh oh oh
No more
In the morning people are so happy
And that's the time when I'm a mister bussinessman
Later on I really get to goin' yeah
I get my motor runnin'
I get my legs to movin'
It's just no good unless two can play
Ah ha haaaa
I was layin' on my back
Relaxin' in the night
I played my radio
It was out of sight
Joe South was singing
"Games People Play"
And I like to play games that two can play
Ah ha ha ha haaa
Oh oh oh oh oh oh
Whoa whoa whoa
Oh oh oh oh
Ah ha ha ha haaa

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Dr Worm

They call me Dr. Worm,
Good morning, how are you? I'm Dr. Worm.
I'm interested in things,
I'm not a real doctor but I am a real worm,
I am an actual worm,
I live like a worm.
I like to play the drums.
I think I'm getting good, but I can handle criticism.
I'll show you what I know and you can
Tell me if you think I'm getting better on the drums
I'll leave the front unlocked 'cause I can't
Hear the doorbell...
When I get into it, I can't tell if you are
Watching me twirling the stick.
When I give the signal, my friend
Rabbi Vole will play the solo...
Someday, somebody else besides me will
Call me by my stage name, they will
Call me Dr. Worm,
Good morning, how are you? I'm Dr. Worm.
I'm interested in things.
I'm not a real doctor but I am a real worm,
I am an actual worm,
I live like a worm.
And I like to play the drums,
I think I'm getting good, but I can handle criticism.
I'll show you what I know and you can
Tell me if you think I'm getting better on the drums.
I'm not a real doctor, but they call me
Dr. Worm!

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Dorothy Moore

A bachelor gray, was Valentine Brown;
He lived in a mansion just out of the town,
A mansion spacious and grand;
He was wealthy as Vanderbilt, Astor or Tome,
Had money invested abroad and at home,
And thousands of acres of land.

A friend of his boyhood was Archibald Gray;
And to prove what queer antics Dame Fortune will play
When she sets about trying to plan,
She heaped all her favors on Valentine, bold,
And always left Archibald out of her fold,
The harmless, and weak-minded man.

So, while Valentine reigned like a king on his throne,
Poor Archibald ne'er had a home of his own,
Yet never was known to complain;
Year in and year out, he wandered around,
In mansion and farmhouse a welcome he found
As long as he chose to remain.

The lilacs and snowballs which guarded the door
Of the ivy-decked cottage of good Parson Moore,
Were waking from out their long sleep;
For the last month of winter was hastening by,
The last hours of Valentine's day had drawn nigh,
When Archibald's travel-worn feet

Were heard on the door-step; he entered and smiled,
Then sat down and slept like a play-weary child,
Woke, and told them how long he would stay;
Then slumbered again, while sweet Dorothy Moore,
The motherless daughter, who loved all God's poor,
Made him welcome around the tea-tray.

And archly she said as she gave him his tea,
'Where's the valentine Archy, you promised to me?
All maidens expect one to-day;'
Then forgot it; nor noticed when supper was done,
And her father had gone to his study alone,
That Archie had stolen away.

But, drawing the curtains on darkness and night!
She sat down to spin by the cheery fire-light,
While before it, so cozy and warm,
Slept the kitten,-a snowy white ball of content-
And her wheel, with its humming activity, lent
To the hour, a picturesque charm.

No scene more enchanting could artist dream know,
Than this peaceful, calm spot, in the ruby-red glow
Of the pine knots aflame on the hearth;
But Dorothy thought, 'Were he but there with me
And loved me as I love, a desert would be
The happiest place upon earth.'

'Oh were he but poor, and forsaken;' she sighed,
'He then a poor maiden might seek for his bride,
But his love will some great lady crown;
Since all is so hopeless, dear Father above
Oh help me to cast out my unreturned love!
And forget the proud Valentine Brown.'

In his elegant library, sat Valentine Brown,
The argand burned brightly, the rich curtains down,
Luxurious home of repose;-
Yet his handsome face saddened, his heart was oppressed;
He sighed, and his spirit was full of unrest,
For his love he should never disclose.

He had roamed over Europe, and Countesses fair
Had graciously smiled on the great millionaire.
Yet his heart had turned coldly away;
'From her childhood, I've loved her, sweet Dorothy Moore,'
Just then the latch clicked-through the half opened door
Crept humbly, poor Archibald Gray.

'I want you!' he whispered; 'I promised her, come!'
And Valentine followed, till reaching the home
Where Dorothy spun by the hearth;
And when he had entered with Archibald Gray
And courteously waited, commands to obey,
Knew no lovelier picture on earth.

But the tact which had piloted Valentine there
Deserted poor Archie; then Dorothy fair,
Blushing deeply, yet smilingly said:
'Why, Archibald, why did you leave us I pray?
You said till to-morrow at noon, you would stay,
And in less than an hour you had fled.'

The memory of Archibald took up the clew
Thus kindly supplied, and eager he grew;
'Yes, yes; Archie promised he would;
I have brought you a valentine, Valentine Brown,'
(Here he smoothed his gray beard, and looked helplessly down),
'He's so good to poor Archie, so good!'

The three stood in silence, two wondering no doubt
How this intricate problem would ever turn out,
And Valentine, thoughtful and kind,-
Felt pity for Archie, who meant for the best;
And for Dorothy-flushing like clouds in the west
And fearing he thought it designed.

He looked at the maiden-modest and sweet;
At her lovely blue eyes, her peach-blossom cheek
And sighed for his youth which had fled;
'She never could love me, good Archibald Gray,
Her beauty and youthfulness stand in the way,
Just look at my frost-covered head.'

'Please tell him, good Archie,' said Dorothy fair,
'That I love nothing better than silvery hair
When it crowns one so noble and true;
His heart all men say is exalted and grand,
He is known for his good deeds all over the land,
Loved by every one, equalled by few.'

'That heart, my good Archie, I lay at her feet
To spurn or to thrill with an ecstasy sweet;'
(And he reverently took her white hand,)
'That hand is his, Archie, and so is my heart
To have and to keep until death do us part
To meet in the Heavenly land.'

Good friends new and old, should you journey that way
And should anything happen, to cause a delay,
And you call upon Valentine Brown:
In the coziest nook, you'll see Archibald Gray,
Awaiting with patience the dallying day,
Till the sickle of Time mows him down.

And Fortune still favors her Valentine dear,
She winters and summers there year after year;
To thank her he never forgets;
With his rosy-cheeked children and beautiful wife
The heart of his heart, and the life of his life,
The sun of his peace never sets.

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How The Old Horse Won The Bet


'T WAS on the famous trotting-ground,
The betting men were gathered round
From far and near; the 'cracks' were there
Whose deeds the sporting prints declare
The swift g. m., Old Hiram's nag,
The fleet s. h., Dan Pfeiffer's brag,
With these a third--and who is he
That stands beside his fast b. g.?
Budd Doble, whose catarrhal name
So fills the nasal trump of fame.
There too stood many a noted steed
Of Messenger and Morgan breed;
Green horses also, not a few;
Unknown as yet what they could do;
And all the hacks that know so well
The scourgings of the Sunday swell.

Blue are the skies of opening day;
The bordering turf is green with May;
The sunshine's golden gleam is thrown
On sorrel, chestnut, bay, and roan;
The horses paw and prance and neigh,
Fillies and colts like kittens play,
And dance and toss their rippled manes
Shining and soft as silken skeins;
Wagons and gigs are ranged about,
And fashion flaunts her gay turn-out;
Here stands--each youthful Jehu's dream
The jointed tandem, ticklish team!
And there in ampler breadth expand
The splendors of the four-in-hand;
On faultless ties and glossy tiles
The lovely bonnets beam their smiles;
(The style's the man, so books avow;
The style's the woman, anyhow);
From flounces frothed with creamy lace
Peeps out the pug-dog's smutty face,
Or spaniel rolls his liquid eye,
Or stares the wiry pet of Skye,--
O woman, in your hours of ease
So shy with us, so free with these!

'Come on! I 'll bet you two to one
I 'll make him do it!' 'Will you? Done!'

What was it who was bound to do?
I did not hear and can't tell you,--
Pray listen till my story's through.

Scarce noticed, back behind the rest,
By cart and wagon rudely prest,
The parson's lean and bony bay
Stood harnessed in his one-horse shay--
Lent to his sexton for the day;
(A funeral--so the sexton said;
His mother's uncle's wife was dead.)

Like Lazarus bid to Dives' feast,
So looked the poor forlorn old beast;
His coat was rough, his tail was bare,
The gray was sprinkled in his hair;
Sportsmen and jockeys knew him not,
And yet they say he once could trot
Among the fleetest of the town,
Till something cracked and broke him down,--
The steed's, the statesman's, common lot!
'And are we then so soon forgot?'
Ah me! I doubt if one of you
Has ever heard the name 'Old Blue,'
Whose fame through all this region rung
In those old days when I was young!

'Bring forth the horse!' Alas! he showed
Not like the one Mazeppa rode;
Scant-maned, sharp-backed, and shaky-kneed,
The wreck of what was once a steed,
Lips thin, eyes hollow, stiff in joints;
Yet not without his knowing points.
The sexton laughing in his sleeve,
As if 't were all a make-believe,
Led forth the horse, and as he laughed
Unhitched the breeching from a shaft,
Unclasped the rusty belt beneath,
Drew forth the snaffle from his teeth,
Slipped off his head-stall, set him free
From strap and rein,--a sight to see!

So worn, so lean in every limb,
It can't be they are saddling him!
It is! his back the pig-skin strides
And flaps his lank, rheumatic sides;
With look of mingled scorn and mirth
They buckle round the saddle-girth;
With horsey wink and saucy toss
A youngster throws his leg across,
And so, his rider on his back,
They lead him, limping, to the track,
Far up behind the starting-point,
To limber out each stiffened joint.

As through the jeering crowd he past,
One pitying look Old Hiram cast;
'Go it, ye cripple, while ye can!'
Cried out unsentimental Dan;
'A Fast-Day dinner for the crows!'
Budd Doble's scoffing shout arose.

Slowly, as when the walking-beam
First feels the gathering head of steam,
With warning cough and threatening wheeze
The stiff old charger crooks his knees;
At first with cautious step sedate,
As if he dragged a coach of state
He's not a colt; he knows full well
That time is weight and sure to tell;
No horse so sturdy but he fears
The handicap of twenty years.

As through the throng on either hand
The old horse nears the judges' stand,
Beneath his jockey's feather-weight
He warms a little to his gait,
And now and then a step is tried
That hints of something like a stride.

'Go!'--Through his ear the summons stung
As if a battle-trump had rung;
The slumbering instincts long unstirred
Start at the old familiar word;
It thrills like flame through every limb,--
What mean his twenty years to him?
The savage blow his rider dealt
Fell on his hollow flanks unfelt;
The spur that pricked his staring hide
Unheeded tore his bleeding side;
Alike to him are spur and rein,--
He steps a five-year-old again!

Before the quarter pole was past,
Old Hiram said, 'He's going fast.'
Long ere the quarter was a half,
The chuckling crowd had ceased to laugh;
Tighter his frightened jockey clung
As in a mighty stride he swung,
The gravel flying in his track,
His neck stretched out, his ears laid back,
His tail extended all the while
Behind him like a rat-tail file!
Off went a shoe,--away it spun,
Shot like a bullet from a gun;

The quaking jockey shapes a prayer
From scraps of oaths he used to swear;
He drops his whip, he drops his rein,
He clutches fiercely for a mane;
He'll lose his hold--he sways and reels--
He'll slide beneath those trampling heels!
The knees of many a horseman quake,
The flowers on many a bonnet shake,
And shouts arise from left and right,
'Stick on! Stick on!' 'Hould tight! Hould tight!'
'Cling round his neck and don't let go--'
'That pace can't hold--there! steady! whoa!'
But like the sable steed that bore
The spectral lover of Lenore,
His nostrils snorting foam and fire,
No stretch his bony limbs can tire;
And now the stand he rushes by,
And 'Stop him!--stop him!' is the cry.
Stand back! he 's only just begun--
He's having out three heats in one!

'Don't rush in front! he'll smash your brains;
But follow up and grab the reins!'
Old Hiram spoke. Dan Pfeiffer heard,
And sprang impatient at the word;
Budd Doble started on his bay,
Old Hiram followed on his gray,
And off they spring, and round they go,
The fast ones doing 'all they know.'
Look! twice they follow at his heels,
As round the circling course he wheels,
And whirls with him that clinging boy
Like Hector round the walls of Troy;
Still on, and on, the third time round
They're tailing off! they're losing ground!
Budd Doble's nag begins to fail!
Dan Pfeiffer's sorrel whisks his tail!
And see! in spite of whip and shout,
Old Hiram's mare is giving out!
Now for the finish! at the turn,
The old horse--all the rest astern--
Comes swinging in, with easy trot;
By Jove! he's distanced all the lot!

That trot no mortal could explain;
Some said, 'Old Dutchman come again!'
Some took his time,--at least they tried,
But what it was could none decide;
One said he couldn't understand
What happened to his second hand;
One said 2.10; that could n't be--
More like two twenty-two or three;
Old Hiram settled it at last;
'The time was two--too dee-vel-ish fast!'

The parson's horse had won the bet;
It cost him something of a sweat;
Back in the one-horse shay he went;
The parson wondered what it meant,
And murmured, with a mild surprise
And pleasant twinkle of the eyes,
That funeral must have been a trick,
Or corpses drive at double-quick;
I should n't wonder, I declare,
If brother--Jehu--made the prayer!

And this is all I have to say
About that tough old trotting bay,
Huddup! Huddup! G'lang! Good day!
Moral for which this tale is told
A horse can trot, for all he 's old.

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I like to play dress up, I'm in love with fashion.

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Beautiful and Fragile Like John Lennon

The heart
Is always waiting
To break.

I sat with a sad girl
With a nervous laugh;
She was delighted
To have company,
She trembled
And nearly wept.

Everything touches us
To our inner core
And changes us forever
Like John Lennon
Identifying his mother
In a lonely morgue as a teen
After she was mown down by a car.

Everyone is beautiful and fragile,
I wish I knew where you were
When I feel the most vulnerable
In this often tragic world.

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Walk Like A Man

Walk like a man, and talk like a man.
Walk like a man, hey baby, you can call me your man.
A little girl asked me what am I gonna do,
When I get old and blue and worn clear through?
And I say by that time I ought to be in my prime,
Im gonna strut like a cock until Im ninety-nine.
Im gonna ...
Sometimes I feel its gettin late.
In life -- all that settlin down can wait,
till my routine days all seem the same.
Right now, Ive got to get on out, Ive got to make my day.
Im gonna ...

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Nothing like a baby girl

Theres nothing like a baby girl
so cute and cuddly
all wrapped up in pink

There's nothing like a baby girl
nothing like the joy that she brings
shes always daddys lil angel

There's nothing like a baby girl
not quite like the boys
shes so calm and composed
always intelligent

There's nothing like a baby girl
bringing mummy happiness and
always trying to do what she does
such beauty, such wonder

Oh, the ecstasy that engulfs the soul
shes so exquisite, so unique,
so captivating
She's a baby girl.

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