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He was seven and I was six, my Brendon Gallacher.He was Irish and I was Scottish, my Brendon Gallacher.His father was in prison; he was a cat burglar.
Let me do it, let me do itLet me blow up the balloonLet me do it, let me do itLet me go to the moon
All you see is outside me: my painted smile,the rosy-posy shell, the fluttery eyes.A butter-won’t-melt-in-my-mouth-type me
I spied a small lonely boy.I was his beautiful red balloon,from morning through to noon,