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P
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No, I will not fondle you willingly centurial world

nor stroke your shred of decency, I hold no candles

or so you broadcast, ever since you kissed

my world weary decadence.

Hey soldier, go flaunt your swags and jabots elsewhere

this girl is bowing out, full to the glands with garlands

and Democrats, the truthful and bad will eventually see my way.

My webbing or weaving grows thick with all your travel plans

you tree trunk, you bile monger, you ghastly gew gaw

bereft of Metaphor, this time your ignorance will kill you

once and for all Centurion.

Didn’t you notice your hundred years are up.