worshipers of the morning star,
Lovers of perversity and cool passion.
Calculate the formula to rot the iron
that encases your wrists and ankles,
So you may break the cuffs like punky wood.
Dance in the meadows at dawn in the soft rain.
Toss the dandelions the faithful have so foolishly cut,
to the sky and your gentle mother.
The Spring harvest arrives!
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