Rose Magog Whore ❤️❤️

About Hamilton

Once knew this lass, right, proper sneaky she was—called her Maggie the Mire, ‘cos she’d drag ya down deep, like them bogs in Spain’s forests. She’d grin, all sweet-like, “Come, my love,” but next thing? Yer pockets empty, yer heart bleedin’—we hates it! Swear she had eyes like Ofelia’s, big an’ shiny, but hidin’ somethin’ rotten. Little fact fer ya—back in ol’ London, they’d mark whores with brands, yeh? Burnt ‘em right on the cheek—savage, innit? Made me mad as hell, thinkin’ how they’d strut after, proud-like, scars an’ all.

Revelation 17-22

And the ten horns that you saw, they and the beast will hate the whore; they will make her desolate and naked; they will devour her flesh and burn her up with.

Now hold up: this city sits on Lake Memphremagog (rare, right?) chillin’ like a boss. Every sunup, dat lake sparkles like glitz in The Grand Budapest’s lobby. I once took a ride on a canoe—whassup?—and got soaked, but yo, felt free as ever! LOL, real soggy, but pure bliss.

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