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Before turning on the gas she thinks of her canary
Before ending life once and for all
She takes the cage and goes to the balcony
The icy winter wind seizes her
Gives her chills
She turned on the gas and lies on her bed
On the pickup she put her favorite record
Already she no longer has all her reason
She sees strange flowers, strange flowers
And butterflies
While over London slowly descends the night
On the pedestal beside the sleeping girl
It can be read scribbled in pencil
Just these few words the canary
Is on the balcony
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