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Amongst My Swans A small empty room fills up with ugly ducklings. Feathers and faded blue jeans, souls are born putting the damage on. We never say what we mean So we're always saving face It's adaptive, but out of style, nothings is more that a trend. Dazed and confused, With bad hair cuts and glass eyes (without fashionable frames) clarity is such a bore. Geeks grow dollars, Fashion grows old. I smile on my throne Amongst my swans.
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