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And let your smiles make me numb
To the pains you breed.
With thorns on your palms
And let your defensive pleas
Beautify my ugly scars
With the mightiness of your fists,
And let the hour of thrusts humble you
To the foolishness of flattery.
Though your love be as sweet as grapefruits
And my sufferings, your sucrose,
Let my death be the price
Let me die at home,
If I must.
Here is home.