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The sweetest songs used to stick in my ears

as smoke did to freshen up used jackets
that were never washed but with spilled out beers,
before the bans soaked the barroom markets:
There was a stallion in the ranks of men,
with a pungent voice and a noble chest,
and as he hummed a chant from one to ten
a parade of flesh danced at his behest:
In that line there were loons, brunettes and waifs,
and a curious demon who pointed 
at the stars with his very sights in staves
of lasers calling out the anointed:
"Leave a light on for our mistier days,
when the lord worked in mysterious ways."
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