She is an imaginary girl, a fiction.
I am a dog on a chain, a prisoner.
When I see her walk, to and fro,
my teeth grow long, all reason goes.
Sway, pretty girl, sway.
It ain't real anyway
Feeling so blue,
you're dressed in red.
Cloud covers the sun,
I feel so dead.
Sway, pretty girl, sway.
It ain't real anyway.
David Lynch, 1946-2025
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