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You say you're no prince of mine,
but what else could you be?
A hitchhiker in my heart,
a pedestrian in my mind?
Is that you under the harsh sun,
holding a holey parasol?
Maybe you're fleeing
the crime scene
of your heartbreaking.
But you see,
none of that makes
any sense to me.
So I wait here,
for you to appear
on a cream-colored horse.
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