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he puts on his olive beret

and wipes mud on his face,

the guys and gals and their array

of guns and curtains on their base.

One of the girls with purple hair

takes off her sling of lace

and say her arm needs no more care

and she will duck under giant leaves

and crawl through the glare

of cuban suns and english thieves

and step on shrunken  stage to sing cabaret

where terror and compassion interweaves.

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