No! I am not Ophelia.
O yeah, I lay with a crazy
But it was just for one night
Among him as his own
To sing a boding song, wave a tender bone.
I fed the meter, built a bridge,
Grabbed a honey, pumped the midg’.
Alack, the smack of truth.
The prince did insert his fangs into my back
And then, ok, ok, you were right!
It all went black!
But tremble I did not. My father lives
Don’t have a brother and I never will
Let my flesh stink to high heaven
Cover it with a wreath homemade
And expect it to do the job of Glade
(from Amy Lawless’ Noctis Licentia, p. 67)