Her touch is as soft as snow
But she has no soul
Her voice is elegantly woven together
And the wool has no meaning
She is the prettiest of them all
Nevertheless, she is alone
Every man she has fallen for
Becomes more desirable than her
She doesn’t think with brain
So, she’s called a harlot
She just a teenager going through a lot
She wants to dance in a Scarlett dress
However, she only dreams this
In a somber rest
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