How is this stealing juice
In which the show is ecstatic,
Maybe you already seem some sin,
The enjoyment that I want and always assume,
On being happy as I get used,
And I know that many times frantic,
The world concealing a message,
Wilds of more profane me perfume.
Where one could know who and change,
having no more shame, even virtue,
Yearning for orgasm and nothing but,
the fury of tempestas? Transient,
The hand that blesses you, treacherous
Hell, it actually contains.