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He was a strange combinationPart what fathers in movies call a romantic little foolPart what fathers in Russian novels call a depraved egoistHe won't be missed, I'll persistFirst he would fall in love like a building implodingAnd not be able to control his emotingThen he would spend a few speechless weeksGoggling his beloved and reading Keats and reading Dante'sNext if she gave him a sign, he'd send flowers for a timeThen in one magnificent gestureHe could transform himself into a BluebeardBut not just an ordinary run of the mill BluebeardOne who was a lecher then he'll put her out to pastureWhat does this have to do with the future?I'm not too sureWhat does this have to do with the present?It doesn't |