Boxing At the Garden

Shes the fancy fighter; Who won't get it through her head; That in that world that she lives in There's only quick or dead. He bobs and weaves and steps back And he'll play the rope a dope; He bangs the body mercilessly; Then watches as she chocks She'll cry out don't you love me; He says of course I do; But you're the one who always starts; So lets do this till it's through. She comes out in the third; Dancing to the beat; He sticks and moves and clinches her; So he can feel her body heat. He makes her throw her hands up; Then hooks right to the heart; Then slips and slides around the room; Like a painter making art. They'll never be a winner; And they know they'll fight again; Getting even is the game; but no one ever wins. The user, the abuser; going head to head; Both of them will know regret; When all they knew is dead.