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A kind of Asylum A final Arrival A lightness A servant Of many Anyway you want to put it Anyway you want to be My hair caught the sun Like an inferno On the avenue They liked it But your hair Is back behind Your ears Sizzling in oil My hair caught the sun Look at me Through glass now You must see Some of you Looking back So it can't Be that bad Anyway you want to put it Anyway you want to be I got comments My legs Were purple They said It was worth Smiling for You smiled too But your legs Are lunging In terror