under the hill by the shiny moonlit stream

Doesn't everything look so pretty in this light?
The river's twisty parts by where the road almost collects the same space,
and travels for a while near its side.
Doesn't everything look so pretty here?
I want to tell everyone, but there is no dialect for this
situation I've dug up
uncovered and drug through the house
across the finest carpets, polished wood, silver untouched
Things for sale, is what it boils down to.
I met a boy across the sea, who told me once just to be,
so taught my lust for him would surely fade.
Girl, you are a plate.

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