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Paul, Who
Paul, whose fingers flutter across his banjo strings like a solemn butterfly in a forest,
and catches his broad smile those who pass by
Who is a shiny new nickel and a freshly made song
Who is a small young tree and the sun that shines upon the grass
Whose voice is a calm stream, making its way quietly through
Is beginning to open up, revealing his beauty like a morning glory
Who tells me, "Think of me as much as you possibly can. I'll be with you always."
Who tells me that the pumpkin pie should be ready, and that I shouldn't worry
Whose newfound voice is a ravenous lion, searching for love
Tries to have everyone's heart, no matter who they are
Who used to sit silently on a tree stump and enjoy a nice book
Has many people to love
Has to be cared for by others
Is a galloping gazelle,
Who sprints feely without a care.
Is my imaginary friend.
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