I can see Martina as a child of three
In the sad seclusion of her nursery
Go outside, Martina! Go outside and play
Never speak, Martina, put your toys away.
So her days were loveless
And her nights the same
When she cried for someone
No one ever came…
Is it any wonder that her eyes grew cold
That she loved nobody and her young heart grew old
All the children crying from the age of three
Grow to be Martina’s and me…
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