In this world of burnt out
burnt ends
She does what she does to
pretend.
We keep her arbit stories
apart
To make her jingle with her
popart.
Her speech is made of moisty
bellow
She is pretty, so we find it
mellow.
Her meager water blue in
color
Can scream of all her daddy's
dollar.
Her stymied wit can make you
ponder
Of all that worldly sinful
wonder.
But in this world of burnt out
burnt ends
Can one find her in their
amends?
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