by Nick Gisburne
One head, one brain, will never be enough.
My simple-minded noggin box needs two,
But stealing such a treasure takes a tough,
Determined type of lowlife loser: you.
Be careful when you kill him, if you can.
Be gracious as your dagger slits his throat.
The cleverest, most charismatic man
Has all the social graces of a goat.
An undercover, cranial attack
Is nothing any novice understands.
Good luck, and, if you ever make it back,
Remember, please, I beg you, wash your hands.
What’s this? A bleeding, bullet-riddled mess.
You think I’m happy? Try me. Ask me. Guess.
