Recovery is slow, not rapid,
When Daddy is publicly stupid,
Landing blows of the Intrepid
On whom had been his Avowed Cupid.
Your worries continue to flow
And are faithfully slow,
As you keep replaying every blow,
Every strange accurate throw
On Mother leaving Bruises of Woe.
Now sick, your choicest fluid The Tepid,
Now rebellious God’s water Not Insipid,
Now hateful, Daddy’s mind is...
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