Death goes dogging everywhere
She's the tenant of the room
He's the ruffian on the stair
You shall see her as a friend
You shall bilk him once or twice
But he'll trap you in the end
And he'll stick you for her price
With his kneebones at your chest
And his knuckles in your throat
You would reason – plead – protest!
Clutching at her petticoat
But she's heard it all before
Well she knows you've had your fun
Gingerly she gains the door
And your little job is done
W E Henley
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