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Muse, a Lady Cautioning forBillie Holiday There's fairness in changing blood for septet's guardian rhythm, the horn blossoming into cadenza. No good pimp's scowl, his baby's voice ruined sweet for the duration. Yes, these predictable fifths. O, the blues is allabout slinging those low tales out the back door (sing: child pried open on that stained floor). O, Billie hollers way down dirt roads (sing: woman on the verge of needled logic). She's aware—yeah, I'm going to kiss some man's sugared fist tonight. O, this tableau's muse, a Lady cautioning me: Just tough this thing out,girl Sweat through theJones. Don't askfor nothing. Spitjour last damned note. 5 ...

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