| I know one day my prince will come,
 | 
| no need for him to be well hung.
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| He will have other qualities,
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| some of which you’ve never seen before.
 | 
| I struggled in my girlish mind
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| trying so hard to dream up my own Mister Right,
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| but not a single vision ever came to me,
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| such is the love that is not meant to be…
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| Oh, illusive amphibian, in on a poisonous scheme,
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| in his invitrious house dwells the old sham of a beast.
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| Beware, the walls are made of glass,
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| yes, all here imitates life,
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| and the symptoms of your sadness
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| are the key to this place.
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| There are two precious holes left in the transparent lid:
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| once in a gesture of hope
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| glued to the barrel’s sharpest edge:
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| The larger one of the tunnels
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| allows the channelled waters to flow,
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| because the other one’s the exit-door
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| where the air comes and goes.
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| The bubbles of the spectacle
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| unfold their magic, obscene.
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| The offered rivers all turn lethal
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| as the large toad disappears;
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| through veils of sickest transformation
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| the boldest of all gestures is born:
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| the miniature of a prince appears,
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| and he’s dancing on the crystal floor!
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| It is imperative now to empty your bladder and bowels,
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| in only three glorious days
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| the prince stretches and grows.
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| All to his pre-destined size,
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| bearing love’s promise of life …-
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| through the disease of a toy we face our secret desire.
 | 
| I know one day my prince will come,
 | 
| no need for him to be well hung.
 | 
| He will have other qualities,
 | 
| some of which you’ve never seen before.
 | 
| I struggled in my girlish mind
 | 
| trying so hard to dream up my own Mister Right,
 | 
| but not a single vision ever came to me,
 | 
| as I was polishing the armoury…
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| Gone is all fragile beauty
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| the good fairies have called,
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| once the tide of the fourth day washes over the shores.
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| Grown into arduous angles, all distorted and wrong,
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| so grotesque beyond comprehension
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| a royal dick tries to come. |