I'm afraid it's nothing but a bloody tomb,
but the mystery of it all has come to bloom.
I had heard before of werewolf lovers,
but never thought before to look under my covers.
In that day, the seeds were planted only in others.
I wish for one free day, I'd be allowed
to fly... and drop on her parade a mushroom cloud
of Forever that would blind the horny crowd.
Her blue-eyed jester, a ridiculous diplomatic,
is unworthy of even a love-lusting lunatic.
Never have I met a successor more pathetic,
since he seems to think we are on solid ground.
Nose-splitting anger would have been abound,
if I had only been given time to turn around.
They couldn't even fuck me from the front.
The irony of it all is as blunt
as the cry of the lamb in the still night hunt.
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