| A sultry, wicked femme fatale with blotchy skin all pale and sweet
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| A sickly facial glow with holes and gaps dotted along her rotten teeth
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| Hair drawn up high pulling back her face, her arms reach out to grab for me
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| Growling and panting, dribbling and stumbling, murmuring incoherently
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| Evoking the demonic crux of life
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| Calling forth in blasphemous tongues
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| The hunger’s returned for the spirit that race’s
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| Through her mind, her vains, her lungs
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| With an evil cackle that cuts the air like an E. coli infected rust knife
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| She gropes and searches with filthy hands where weeping sores and scabs are rife
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| I look into her bloodshot eyes and take her in my shaking arms
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| Her language is foul, her breath even worse, never could resist her filthy
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| charms
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| My backdoor crack-whore
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| Gives me lovin' when I’m feeling down
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| My backdoor crack-whore
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| I gave her some white, she offered me the brown
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| Left me sore and feeling sick, as we lay together in our own filth
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| She gave it up, I took her high, she flfet me itching, wanting to die
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| A shadow of my former self, now weak, confused and in poor health
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| Ridden with disease and junkified, spreading the plague rotting out my insides |