  They have made me an airy apology For the crude insistence of their flesh! They have made me twist my tongue Into fickle nonchalance! With a languid impudence I have tarried underneath the moon, While the haggard reticence Of their lives forgot itself within me! Well, I am rebelling At the men who make me Their grimacing marionnette! Let them find another dancing-teacher For their dull, unruffled fears. I am off to tear my black and white Into shreds, within a valley Where nakedness and colours do not need An artificial night to make them brave! |
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