E-rated poemier:El wayiyo
a music of my pain,
threshold of birthing gain's,
i sing with my dying flute,
like the stair of a surprise,
with the longing i rise.
El wayiyo,
what a nice place,
at the sunset of pleasure,
i create the atmosphere of pressure,
though all still of pinging melt.
But el-wayiyo,
a nice place again.
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