Once a label is on something It becomes an it Like it's no longer alive It's like a loss of vision Or some dark impression Or a black spot on your eye If it's up to you My little sweet baboo Through the shouting and the fever Think of life as queer Think of it my dear And some knobs or a fancy tone From here there is no reason Baby's got it made But it's not what the life's about What is imagination May become a fact If we think of it that way If you want to know I can tell you no
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