Let this fire sleep within the beast.
Do not stir its passions deep.
For should you wake it in the least,
you should find within it sleeps
a soul so young and innocent
the beast would cry out in lament.
This beast you see, though eons old,
scarcely stirs you'd think it dead.
its heart made out of stone so cold,
for naught but scraps has it been fed.
And what now should it see
but a morsel such as thee?
What's a beast to think,
riddle ringing in its ears,
cheeks turned pink
with fear.
Whats a beast to think,
drunk on thoughts more sweet than drink?
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