I am of the mire too dirty for swine; I am of the filth that
incinerators cannot destroy; I am of the stench that God’s own sun fails
to purify; I am of the corruption that lies at the most dismal depths of
man’s mind; I am the slime and slew that pervert the divine gift of
speech;—I AM “SMUT.”
I am the foul breath of disease; I am the tainted hands of sin; I am
Thought strangled by Shame;—I AM “SMUT.”
The muddied waters of the Ganges are to me as the rippling mountain
brook.