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Let's Have Another Look at Your Past Perfect

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I know what they call me behind my back.
As I spit out blood, pick up my hat, I think of
All the names: Jack-the-lass, Gentleman Jack,
Fella in a frock. Not wildly creative but

Hurtful nonetheless, just like this thug
Trying to warn me away from Miss Walker
But I will remember his ugly mug
And find out his name, who sent him.

Already my eye is swelling as I stumble
Along the road home. This time I won’t
Make it in twenty-five minutes. Humbled,
I forgot to check the time before I left

Crow Nest. Thus it ends: two Yorkshire ladies
Who might have settled down together,
At shabby little Shibden, happily and gayly
Now will reside apart and alone,

All my planning and seducing, ever so fine,
Undone. Well, that has happened before.
But it won’t stop me. I won't toe the line.
I’ll keep looking for a woman to be my wife.

And the thug, warning me off, speaking her name?
That’s not coincidence. I’ve made some enemies.
Most ladies love me, but gentlemen frown
When I beat them at negotiations or cards,

And someday, I’ll beat them at their own
Game, winning a lifetime of love with a woman
It’s just a matter of cracking the code.
For now, I’ll stumble home and watch my back.