"Denmother, this forlorn morn
I'll be without Her scorn..
Gone from Her deceptive songs,
Never again shall I do wrongs!"
Seventh summer Moon arose,
My life drawing to a close
and sleep with daemon kin,
A silver halo above my grin.
There She stood; an Angel tarred
Ringed by silver as the maypole barred,
Bewinged like the horizon at autumn's dusk
Clad in black, Cruella's orgasmic...
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