A smile upon a cold, frozen face,
though snow and ice aren't in this place;
we shiver at our cold, frozen thoughts.
Or, perhaps, the expressionless life we've bought.
To take a look upon our cold, frozen eyes
is to see through our faceless guise.
We strive to extricate our rigid carelessness.
Or, perhaps, your sexual innocence.
We raise a hand and something...more
to get a taste of our Fellatio Whore.
We try once more in our stiffened unlikelihood
to experience the naughty as well as the good.
We try our hands in Vigor Mortis
but don't think to stop and question this;
the answer's not in paper, file, nor storage box
but in the infamous birds of ... flock.
These birds, you see, come in two's and three's
but it is us, you know, that cum for these.
You say now that it's hard to comprehend,
but will assuredly enjoy it in the end.
So while the rest of you suffer taxes and lobotomy,
the likes of us enjoy botox and sodomy.
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