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Whore.





The dusk is to the Dawn 
As the crowns to the peasants,
There lived a full girl on the top of Mount Pleasant.

So refined and drooled,
Her waist was all full,
She sat on her stool
Awaiting a tool
And from the tool
She would grasp the meaning,
And the voices in her head would not be demeaning

Before the rooster crowed
And the morning cow huffed,
The girl took a deep breath and out came a puff

And the puff blew her voice to the store
And the voice was heard from the first floor
And the sound echoed back from the door
"Woe is me, the holiest of whores."


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