131. POP con mayúsculas

Hefner
The Sad Witch

You wouldn’t believe in my new belle she flits
and weaves a curious spell,
And under my skin there’s a place where she resides.
Finding a release in prayers
and psalms I will obey her articulate commands,
She is just a coquette and
how I wish I could forget.
Breathing new life in to the sad witch
and she promised me three wishes
and all I wish is she should remain here.
A poisonous saint with a brittle,
crippled frame and she fooled me with her motherly gestures,
my only guess is she’s misguided.
The sins, the sins the heavenly limbs that greet below the red, red lights,
hold no sway with me now she’s my intended.
The jewels around her neck retain a curious sheen,
god is in my heart and tearing at the seams,
Her atheist tracts are certainly persuading.
(and I don’t know, and I don’t want to know,
if she floats or drowns, if she floats or drowns.)