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Two stools

Round up the Privy Council
I'm leaving home tonight.
Crane the bull, give the shadow,
Chant your name.
But promise him wary
That through thick spit
And soulless spate, I see him.
And promise him that,
That through the rumble of gray passion
He'll get a rest.
'Till  seeking scorn and unbounded pleasure,
Our paths will cross and cross again.
Round up the Privy Council
I'm finding him tonight.




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