Take her to the river
|
Call her a river-child
|
Take her to the forest
|
Call her a little wild
|
Sell her to the gypsy
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For a jar of metal coins
|
Take her to the mountain
|
And thrust yourself
|
Into her loins
|
|
Calico
|
Calico
|
Calico
|
Her lips are white as snow
|
|
She moved to the mountains
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With a box all chiseled sharp
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She moved to the highlands
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With a box of books all dark
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I knew her in the city
|
She and I would dance the night
|
Drink the wine of dripping berries
|
Toss the moon and count the lights
|
|
Calico
|
Calico
|
Calico
|
Her skin is soft as snow
|
|
Take her to the river
|
Call her a river-child
|
Take her to the forest
|
Call her a little wild
|
|
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|
Calico
|
Marissa Nadler |