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Click hereUpon lady fair, mortal young
teeth have struck and stung.
Drawn blood, sweet upon tongue.
From slender neck I have hung.
Corrupt kiss, all passions wrung.
Biting nails, to flesh have clung.
Plea not from weakened lung.
By sinnful hunger, pale, deathly gaunt she is brung.
Alas, the sweet songs of her soul no more to be sung.
From mortal shell spirit, heart, and soul freely flung.