Sin upon placeholders is anthropic. Think
I won't change my shirt to my devices
The soup's up, sweetheart. Waiting for collapse
Love is a madness shrunk to spit the locks
The bean hand is lasted. In flashier skin
Hostess swirls divert my blurt. I fling up
Dreams to dawn in marriage partition
You crave the say-so of a One-Woman
One-Count Bloc but are covered in skin
Waiting for the lapse as a whale wants fin
A bent style of almost/yet pulls in at the knees
Or I can hear my gift to you for miles
There is kind of a safe distance but it's a safe
Distance within this stronghold you butt to shreds
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