Nocturne
The pantaloons are dancing,
dancing through the night,
pure white pantaloons
underneath the moon,
on a jolly washline
skipping from my room
over to Miranda,
who washed them this noon.
dancing through the night,
pure white pantaloons
underneath the moon,
on a jolly washline
skipping from my room
over to Miranda,
who washed them this noon.
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