She drinks of the cup
Black water, hate water
And the taste trickles down her
Ivory thoat...
Simmering insignificantly in her
Little wasteland, and listening
To Satan speak...
The master has words for her...
And she can hear them all
And as she partaked of the wretched
News of her wrong doings...
She smiles, satisifed
In her insanity |
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