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You cast me off like tattered lace,

and now you crawl to taste my grace?

No portrait bears my sins for me,

No darkened mirror shows you what you're wont to see.

I hear no heartbeat batter in your faithless breast,

Like so many lies, you're just as ugly when undressed.

You curse my name, but moan it still;

A shrieking requiem despite your will.

Your thighs part like the scriptures, my Testament of Shame,

I read not with reverence, but to etch my own name.

Impale you like the Nazarene, use you like the Magdalene.

You clothe yourself in holy writ to appear a saint when you are a

Cunt, Cunt, Cunt, Gilded Cunt.

Cunt, Cunt, Cunt, Wilted Cunt.

Your bruised knees tell me all I need to know of you,

Your prayers ring hollow, your moans ring true.

You're known by Filthy poets for what you are,

Merely a moon illuminated by greater stars.

You walk in ruin like so many nights,

So many nights I wasted on a motherfucking

Cunt, Cunt, Cunt, Gilded Cunt.

Cunt, Cunt, Cunt, Wilted Cunt.

You preach of virtue, but fuck like the damned.

Your lips call me wicked, your body calls me back.

I make this mistake again and again,

Your venom still pumps through my veins.

But wits are treated just like common whores,

First they're enjoyed, then kicked out the door.

A whore by any other name would still taste just as cheap.

A knife by any other name still cuts just as deep.

Your saccharine words dribble like cum or honey from your cock-ridden maw,

But a cunt by any other name is still a motherfucking cunt.