Letter to Bob

Dear Bob, It has been mighty long That I have licked my wounds and cursed your song. I wish you had warned me, Bob, That the lying bastard came only to rob My shame bathed in my suppressed sobs. Did you not tell him, Bob That a man with no good intention Is a mere coward to awaken a woman’s affection Only to feed her a dose of rejection? And Bob, I bet you turned ten times already in your grave To witness that dirty, low-down knave! I don’t know why he takes up Sunday morning space in the pew Such a lying bastard has made me a miserable shrew. And he- an apt description of the one Who wears many faces to meet the faces he meets, Has his fans believing he is far above Suspicion But Bob, you and I know that lying bastard casts his face from The very seed he sowed. He came to rob and he came to kill That insidious lying bastard Will one day swallow his own pill.