My good memory for faces is bruised
Tosser bastards have large fists
And deliver heavy punches
I fear the next blow will knock me the fuck out
I will never recover
And my good memory will record nothing but the
shape and weight of hands and wrists
Soon they'll clutch my throat
Tosser bastards have bad memories
Too easily they forget, and change
But maybe I'll learn how to box
Myself
I'll put up my hands and defend my face
My good memory for faces will prevail
Tosser bastards will lose the toss and gain married parents.
-Trish
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