Summer days, like blazing fire
When I met the Italian girl
Hair like thistles, skin like coffee
And a tongue with nine different lives.
Nine languages, she says
Nine languages she can speak
For Inferno, Faust, or Don Quixote
Perhaps even Phantom of the Opera
A literary mind, close to genius
A silver tongue, accented with lives
Nine lives, nine tongues
Nine languages that live inside her
But what can those lives survive on?
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