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Literature Text
Lace and Leather
Think us not of fowls descent
Some of us here
Do pine for the screams of our lovers
As they toil and writhe
as they bleed and beg for more
think us not foul
Yet bask in our glory
As each knife and each lash
Be as blissful as the Sun
Think us not of fowls descent
Some of us here
Do pine for the screams of our lovers
As they toil and writhe
as they bleed and beg for more
think us not foul
Yet bask in our glory
As each knife and each lash
Be as blissful as the Sun
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