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I hold an image of the ashtray girl As the cigarette burns on my chest I wrote a poem that described her world That put my friendship to the test And late at night Whilst on all fours She used to watch me kiss the floor What’s wrong with this picture? What’s wrong with this picture?
Farewell the ashtray girl Forbidden snowflake Beware this troubled world Watch out for earthquakes Goodbye to open sores To broken semaphores We know we miss her We miss her picture
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