Said the lonely man one misty night
Through an amber filtered world of wine
"That lingerie clad lady is of such succulent sight"
"That any decent man would curdle his blood and chill his spine"
"And any detestable cuss would lose his drunken might"
"For she is a challenge - she'll fall for no man's line."
Now the clinical Mr. Lackamor recognized the dare
With all due logic of a loverless man
"The very best stud cannot be with every suitable mare."
Over the brim of a stein of ale, he then began to stand
Feeling the dry warm weight of alcohol and a rather benign stare
For there sat a woman of all proportions that there was silence from every man
"You agree then that she is a sight to behold, Mr. Lackamor?"
"Nonsense," he replied, "There is more to a woman than just the size"
"Of a ripe brassiere and feminine curves they now sell in the store."
"For in every woman's heart is a special truth masked by a man's lies,"
"And the only perfect woman can exist in a man's eyes, what's more"
"We men cannot hear the passion in their hearts over our desire to hear their night cries."
"Now that is a very clinical love you have."
But the tavern closed and the conversation died,
At least for one more night, and these topics of love could make you laugh
If this lady hadn't been the last to leave and without a ride
Through the dark foggy streets employed with a criminal staff
And Mr. Lackamor was all that was left to take this lady's side.
"You are very kind," she mused as she stepped inside his carriage
"Whether a woman is dressed in a straight jacket or chains"
"A man will always see her in lingerie, perhaps that is why I never entertained marriage."
"Not every man is a fiend, " said Mr. Lackamor, which was rather strange
Because he felt that every man's mind had a devil that saw all women in a perpetual lingerie age
And believed every woman saw this devil in all men of every color spectrum and race range.
"Take the next left," she guided, "what is it you do?"
There was no reply, and so she asked, "Do you have a name?" - "Mr. Lackamor."
"Then the stories I've heard of the clinical Mr. Lackamor are true?"
She smiled, he gloomed, "stories?" he replied, but listened for more.
"Of a man as quiet and gentle as spring, but with a price in lieu"
"That though something of a metaphysical romantic, he was a single man to the core."
The clinical Mr. Lackamor stopped on a lonely street
The lady said, "we are here," and stepped to the roadside.
"You never told me your name, miss?" Mr. Lackamor never missed a beat.
"Miss Maples, Mr. Lackamor," then she was gone like a setting sun or a shrinking tide.
Years passed and stories were told, "Aye, she turn out to have hot lips and cold feet?"
"No," he would say, and though with a heartful of words, left that as his only reply.
"The loverless man and the porcelain lady are famous tales here."
"Robert, you and your brother, Salty Bob, are rumor mongers."
And Mr. Lackamor rose, gathering his things, finishing the last of his beer.
"Mr. Lackamor, why do I feel I won't be seeing you here any longer?"
With a sigh, he turned, "There is no loverless man or lingerie lady, years ago I wed her."
And though there are open lies and secret truths, Mr. Lackamor's clinical heart only made his love stronger