How do they flee with the sincerity
of a blinded fiend so sadistically
coveting but egregious gluttony
to pervade their stomachs with perjury?
They spring to sieze their avaricious fill,
as launch filthy consolation does it,
whilst mockery of modesty does will
but more desire to cull evermore bits.
Trinkets cajole their malicious eyes so,
beseeching their reaching to only grow,
as does a ghost bombast the luscious lust
for gems twinkling each in secret disgust.
Sycophants to themselves they constitute,
tyrants of shelves and shelves of guilded glee,
which by their views each self only would suit;
for none other could their joys upon lean.
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