A master-sir uses me late at night. I afford him exactly the
same degree of slavish respect as I would any mistress-madam, which is
boundless!
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| A master-sir approaches me in the dead of night |
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| He stops to look down upon me |
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| 'Kiss my feet, boy!' |
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| This master-sir knows his own mind and expects to be obeyed by a lowly public footservant! |
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| Therefore obedience, and boundless respect, is what he gets! |
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| I particularly admire his SOCK... |
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| ...peeking out from the top of his BOOT! |
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| Likewise, when he switches his booted feet in front of my face, I admire his other SOCK |
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| Kissing BOOTS and admiring SOCKS. That's pretty much all I do, day in and day out; night after night! |
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| No wonder my customers hold me in contempt! |
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| I'm, literally, a piece of garbage at their FEET! |
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| The master-sir continues on his manly way, without saying another word to me |
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| And rightly so, for other than being ordered and bossed around, I am not worthy of being spoken to |
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| I'm just a slave |
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| And a sockieboy one, at that! |
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