This magic you feel
Will be gone like a wheel,
down a mountain!
But is it really so bad
As you’re still high, though sad?
You can create
Magic so great
Little Tingeling
Now let me hear ya sing!
Or dance,
take a chance!
Young tears will fall,
but you wount.
I promise, dear boy
She threathts ya like a toy.
But at least you can play, so say:
Hey, I’m colour, your too boring grey!
You wount be in her heart
But aint that a breathing start?
Girl.
If you can learn how to swim
You can leave without him
Boy.
Show her the door
if she acts too poor.
Future us coming
and you better be ready.
Don’t let anyone
take your rolling time of stone!
Skrevet på den rullende bussen av Helene Dalland; forbipolene.
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