There are two things expected of me,  
To follow them, there is no reason I can see.  
They are and always have been assumed virtuous,  
But expecting without reason concludes them monstrous.  
There are now no wreathed words,  
To save me and clean away life’s dirt.  
Expose the wound and heal no hurt,  
Purity: a concept, entirely absurd.  
Will I heel like an obedient dog?  
To he who that ‘deserves’ my praise: god?  
Why demand of me faith?  
When you reject of me your eternal face?

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