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EFFIE MAY’S CONFESSION

EFFIE MAY’S CONFESSION

The moon was a-howlin’ it must be done
and I know it’s best to not play chicken.
I always heeds the advice of the sun.

That fool grabbed me, pinned me down. “Time for fun,”
he said. But I ain’t got time for messin’.
The moon gets to howlin’ if chores ain’t done

just right, so it can wax and wane and stun
the night with its sickle of glycerin.
It always heeds the advice of the sun.

Both them globes stroll through time—they never run.
When the corn and peas are fit for cannin’,
the moon will be howlin’ it must be done.

I pick and pull and hoe until night comes.
I work the dirt until my skin glistens.
Yep, I heeded the advice of the sun.

Its heat was a-tellin’ me to steal his gun—
It weren’t my plan to kill no one, listen,
the moon was a-howlin’ it must be done;
he learnt to heed the advice of the sun.

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brillig01
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