Massagenistic Swine

The man, he gets drunk off wine

To this girl, his medals shine.

With privilege and honor

He comes down upon her.

As if with each beat of the chest

He shows he is the best.


Behind the mask, is his true grime

Each day, living a crime.

The man, he goes to smother

In his eyes he must have her.

In search of his crest

He holds tight to her breast.


He now, hard as pine

Exposes he really is swine.

To him, she is a goner

He did his best to con her.

In contentment, the man rolls over to rest

The blade, she drives it through his chest.

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