Madam Earth, you’re more a whore than I am. I’ve stood on my head, turned somersaults, anything for a customer with a big fat tip, but you’ve turned more tricks than ever I did, for you turn away no man. In the end you box us all, even me, man or woman’s no difference to you, you’ve got to take it and take it in, but what makes you the final whore— you won’t take cash and let us go; for we pay everything we’ve got. So all I’ve got to say is there’ve been times, times I spread for free, and they liked it, and were at peace, alive, in me.