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- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Cry Of The Leviathan
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Glory to the god of beasts,
Who's made a temple of me,
With only a caress,
He can make you bleed.
My claws are dripping red,
With what he asks of me,
These wounds which he inflicts,
Cut deeper than you can see.
A pox on the world of man,
And all his accursed machinery,
When it's turned to dust,
Who'll be unlike me?
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