Our Primordial Nightmare

If you can’t change the person, change their shape,
cloister a kitty to reveal its make;
flash the scud: splice the need to touch the breaks.
Was she worth the time to resuscitate?
That clod flashed and gave himself an earache.
If you can’t change the person, change their shape.
Shaking hands sever her head from its nape.
We can’t all eat that lucid, sticky cake;
flash the scud: splice the need to touch the breaks.
Hued words rattle their bars till they reshape.
It’s all just fun and games; her face’s opaque.
If you can’t change the person, change their shape;
indite milky, creamed eyes that’ll aid escape.
Grate that face down till even the bones flake;
flash the scud: splice the need to touch the breaks.
Catch the moment and let’s videotape:
hurry, pummel that sponge while she’s awake.
If you can’t change the person, change their shape;
flash the scud: splice the need to touch the breaks.

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