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Mastering The Art Of Sinning
At your mahogany desk;
You sit.
You study.
You wait for me.
Outside your house:
It rains drops of inaudible notes.
I dance between the downpour.
Your own personal striptease at your doorstep.
Attached to the cross is a bleeding bible.
I can use this as my pole.
I finally arrive in your poster-plastered room.
I am drunk and naked.
I stab you because I am a bitch.
These sins have been forgotten.
These sins will not be forgiven.
