A cold here and a cough there
The naughty one comes through everywhere
Scattered are the masks of life for sale
They speak of life on the run, like a tale
God forbid if you ever enter the crowded road
The hunt is on for the naughty one's abode
I shall not dream and I will not pine
As my identity lies isolated along the tyne
Such is the irony of my situation oh friend
Control on my sneezes has become the trend
How I wish to climb the trees
Sail high on the mighty sea
Come hither my beautiful butterfly
Play with me and bring me profound joy
I may not come again to see the daylight
Quarantined as I lie in the twilight
Let the naughty one' tribe never increase
God forbid if anyone ever sneeze.
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