Mirror, mirror on the wall, How come I’m not ten feet tall? That’s how I feel, it’s what I thought … But in the mirror, I’m quite short.

Mirror, mirror on the wall, How come I’m not ten feet tall? That’s how I feel, it’s what I thought … But in the mirror, I’m quite short.

A splash of colour on my dress, Now more is more, and less is less.

A splash of colour on my dress, Now more is more, and less is less.

In black and yellow, I’m making a splash, I’m out to impress, I’m cutting a dash. Surfing in Bondi, I’m riding a wave, It’s all in my head, I’m never so brave.

In black and yellow, I’m making a splash, I’m out to impress, I’m cutting a dash. Surfing in Bondi, I’m riding a wave, It’s all in my head, I’m never so brave.

I’m approaching the croque, In my C. Kane frock. But my fringing is dangling, I’m risking a strangling.

I’m approaching the croque, In my C. But my fringing is dangling, I’m risking a strangling.

The beach is all around me:  the sun, the sea, the sand, But I’m quite high and dry here, all safely on the land.

The beach is all around me: the sun, the sea, the sand, But I’m quite high and dry here, all safely on the land.

New weights have arrived; they’re so pink, they’re so me, The perfect shade makes the perfect accessory.

New weights have arrived; they’re so pink, they’re so me, The perfect shade makes the perfect accessory.

Happy birthday to me, as I turn one today, And I’m not wearing beige, and I’m not wearing grey. This pic from Berlin is a riot of pigment, And my real age can stay just a colourful figment.

Happy birthday to me, as I turn one today, And I’m not wearing beige, and I’m not wearing grey. This pic from Berlin is a riot of pigment, And my real age can stay just a colourful figment.

Frocksharp’s one year today, Happy Birthday to me, I’ve worn a few dresses – two hundred, or three? This one’s five years ago, it’s a digital print, A stunner from Mary, with a hint of a tint.

Frocksharp’s one year today, Happy Birthday to me, I’ve worn a few dresses – two hundred, or three? This one’s five years ago, it’s a digital print, A stunner from Mary, with a hint of a tint.

I’m out and about on the Piazza St. Mark, Looking for a taxi, a place to embark. It’s the only way back, to find my hotel, The alleys and laneways are tricky as hell.

I’m out and about on the Piazza St. Mark, Looking for a taxi, a place to embark. It’s the only way back, to find my hotel, The alleys and laneways are tricky as hell.

The Piazza San Marco, for an evening stroll, No sense of direction, no sense of control. So where have I come from, and where is the track? And how do I get there, and which way is back?

The Piazza San Marco, for an evening stroll, No sense of direction, no sense of control. So where have I come from, and where is the track? And how do I get there, and which way is back?

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