He is cruel. He has shut away my pigs. Locked and scorned my office. Refused my games. Ah, he hates so uniformly. It is a repeater tongue jabs out into unfamiliar airs. My piggies bark and beg of his mercies. I know them. They are kind and deep. Carry a million names. But he finds germs at the front of the shelf. And if he’ll never cease to fear, my pigs remain so: Locked, and all at his mercies.
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