You were an utter, brainless cur
That ended phrases with a slur.
You cursed me low, you cursed me high,
But I was sticking by your side.
God knows what had possessed me then,
When there were many gentlemen,
That would tear worlds to kiss my feet,
They were well raised, quite nice and neat.
You were offensive, crude and rough,
But you accepted – I was tough,
and not one second I pretended,
The wounds you gave, you always mended.
Thus, I was dancing in your sin,
Got kissed, got praised; kicked in a shin…
It wasn’t boring. I was doped,
But love was not what I have hoped –
It ended swiftly, with one blow,
You left me pace the world alone.
But then again, you were a cur,
Who accidentally seared my soul.