| The first time it was an accident
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| We cursed ourselves for months
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| But its liquid eyes and little fists
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| Smothered our principled objections
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| We were doing what our bodies told us
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| We were vassals to our lust
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| It got easier every time
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| We were praised and congratulated
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| Fecundity is the mother of virtues
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| We didn’t feel bad about it anymore
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| We were doing what our bodies told us
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| We were vassals to our lust
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| We did it again and again
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| The spirit is willing
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| And oh, how the flesh is willing
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| We’ll thrust ourselves into the future
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| Again and again and again
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| And the birthing cries will bury
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| The echoes of the old koan:
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| Limitless flesh, limited means
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| It is right and good to drown the earth in seed
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| It’s what we were put here to do
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| And by God if we aren’t good at it
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| O, rejoice!
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| For soon the world will burst with wombs
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| The sun will claw for the trees in vain
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| And an ocean of bones will creak below |