Young widows
With tales from the crypt
Crucified with rusted nails
To the pole shaped as a cross
Desperate need for attention

Entitled to nothing
Sometimes the herd needs thinning
Complain that rose bushes have thorns
When you should be pleased that they even bloom

Desperate strippers' need for attention

If you prick us, do we not bleed?
If you tickle us, do we not laugh?
If you poison us, do we not die?
And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?

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