by Nick Gisburne
I’m serious. You wanna buy a face?
I’ve got some belters, hanging in me coat.
Anonymous, impossible to trace.
I swear, on all the books I ever wrote.
Originals, no trashy back-street tat.
There ain’t no better bargain, not like this.
You look like you were shafted, face like that.
Be honest, has it ever had a kiss?
You need me, mate. I got here just in time.
Tomorrow, shove that shocker in the bin.
Illegal? If ambition was a crime
I’d not be hawking half a sack of skin.
You ready? Say the word, you’ll get a peek.
A body? Nah, I’m not that kinda freak.
