Your beauty is beyond compare
I look upon it and despair
With marble legs and eyes of emerald green

Your sneer is like a cold command
Your voice is soft like desert sand
And I cannot compete with you, Jolene

He reads your passions in his sleep
And there's no hand that could mock or feed
The lifelessness when the sculptor calls your name, Jolene


But I can easily meet a man
Who comes to me from ancient lands
And shares a wreck of Ozymandias, king of kings.

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