It is a wicked smile they wear

as they watch the wolves wilt,

as at their flesh they tear

and accesorise with their pelt.

So they squirm and writhe,

ugly in their agony:

because in order to survive,

they surrender their dignity.

They howl at the moon,

and catch their reflections,

at the mercy of women.

So they degrade its subjects,

to the level of mere objects.

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