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How quaint of the beast
She wishes to be clean
She wishes to be pure
Look what she’s endured
How quaint of the beast
She wishes to be pure
she scrubs her matted fur
And holds herself, unsure
How quaint of the beast
She wishes to be clean
She wishes to be pure
Look what she’s endured
How quaint of the beast
She wishes to be pure
she scrubs her matted fur
And holds herself, unsure
She tries her best
A toothy smile and a trembling breast
Lips stiff and eyes wet
How precious, on her hind legs
Washing and soaking, but could it ever work?
Could she outrun her desires?
Could she hush her urges?