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The Germans Arrive, by George Bellows
Robert L. Martin

The Beast

The Beast
 
It rose up through the cracks in the earth
What womb be there to give it birth?
To put a smile on its cunning lips
And fill it full of surly quips
 
Its language as clean as the morning dew
Its tongue dipped in honey called witch’s brew
Dressed in white satin the beast in its finest
Told me exotic stories so much to digest
 
It led me up to paradise, the fruit of my desire
All my convictions I cast into the fire
My new religion answered all my dreams
Life became easy for what it seems
 
I am now a new man basking in leisure
Addicted to things that give me pleasure
I don’t want to go back to life as it was
With morality preaching to me for what it does
Pleasure is my new religion
‘Cause it feels so-o-o-o good

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