Harlequin you've outdone yourself.
Gone and got yourself a wreck.
Harlequin can't make you laugh, then no one can.
A story of woe coated in melodious jokes.
A writer pen, quilt, or paper, telling its wit.
Will you and Pierrot always fight?
Could it be that this triangle of portrayed love be a mere mirage
Harlequin, Harlequin, you take the meanings and run.
You hide, you scatter, you make a bad mark.
Pierrot, Pierrot, with mask so white you can't deny
that sadness behind those streaked marks.
I wish you'd stop, stop fighting. For I know.
A dance was not meant for three.
And I rather not choose between the two.
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