oh the moments

the laundry load was the high thought in her mind
when the steel cut up her throat
of all the things she hated, soiled clothes was not her kind
a nasty pair of undies, that really got her goat

and now her evening gown is soaked in warm red blood
her makeup is a mess too
no more riding the hot young muscled stud
a fancy way of living has gone quickly down the tube

oh the moments in which we live
are measured by the love we give
and love we must until we turn to dust
or scrape the steel of all its crusted rust.

she rotted till her white bones reflected the morning sun
all her brains were ate by ants who got smarter by the ton
her liver was the feast of big black crows flying east.
Her anus was engorged by black worms fresh out the beast

her cheekbones were the focus of a lot of selfie takes
now they dripped of cob webs and held lots of dirty flakes
her lips were red as cherry wine on a warm summer night
but now they are long gone and her smile is quite the fright.

oh the moments in which we live
are measured by the love we give
and live we must until we turn to dust
or scrape the steel of all its crusted rust.

she played her paltry hand as well as any gambler could
but when she got too greedy they turned her into wood
even though she was a beauty with black hair and bright blue eyes
she only looks at darkness in the never ending skies

oh the moments in which we live
are measured by the love we give
and live we must until we turn to dust
or scrape the steel of all its crusted rust.
 
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