A Tale of Two Cities

A hooker was in trouble,
She twisted on her bed
And when she could, she whispered,
And this is what she said:

‘Go out and find my true love,
the one who did me dirt.
I’m sure he’s with another –
don’t give the lady hurt.

But tell him what transpired,
He ought to know the score,
And tell him that I’m dying –
O Jesus, I’m dying for more.’

While in another city
Inside an I.C.U.
The fellow of her fancy
Was in extremis too.

He cried ‘go find my baby,
The one who gave me this.
Be wary of her welcome,
Be careful of her kiss.

I’m sure she’s with a sailor
(Don’t make the sailor sore)
But tell her that I’m dying –
O Jesus, I’m dying for more.’

The outcome of this story
Is anybody’s guess –
Some say they both recovered,
Some say it was a mess.

They both have loaded lugers
Whatever else they’ve got –
The rule is not to use them,
The trick’s not getting shot.

For when affection falters
And down the tubes goes trust,
We’re right back where we’ve started
With self-destructive lust.

And now that I’m a bastard
And now that you’re a whore,
Our love’s a kind of death, dear –
Though Jesus, I’m dying for more.

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