I know its fat face, as round as my father's pancakes
bubbling with craters, open wounds
We all go a little nuts with it looming over
the rooftops working its ancient spells,
A woman knows such things when the tide
pulls her away from the shore
And men, we keep it deep down
until it loses its fullness
No one sees us shaving the ungodly hairs
that grew in the night
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