Tis the honest emptiness of the night
What there is of us can be torn apart
Like curd in whey, cut softly with a knife
Cords of beef meat and chorus of delight
In the ring during bolero's bull fight
It's fine, a fine cut, but we'll be alright
On your face intextured shines a bright light
All craters great and small flash then take flight
Your eyes -- or their ayes -- they have it, alright
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