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She wore a singlet and a tutu,
Ballet pumps and slide in hair
And she practiced rigorously
With concentrated care;
But frankly her dancing skill
Was rather one of dross,
Her Dying Swan resembling
More of a drunken Albatross.

Then she met a Bull Fighter
Standing in the Barnsley rain
Cursing under his breath
That ever he left Spain.
Now they thrill discerning
 Audiences every single night,
She in her ballet gear,
He in his Suit of Light.

With the big guitar playing
The mood is never dull
As they dance the Dying Swan
Being gored by the Bull,
And to rapturous applause
They restrict the encore
By repeating the performance
To just one time more.

Other projects are being planned
When they get time to rehearse;
Maybe dancing to the drum
Accompanied by spoken verse.
Oh it's an exciting time
With no more Barnsley rain.
Operations have been moved
To a sunny Southern Spain.

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