I gather up 52 flat rectangles,
gather ’em up into a deck.
The games are over,
it’s time to lay down my cards
and read what’s in store for me.
Cut three times,
knock three times
while I think of you.
Dear, I’ll summon you into this.
Portray the Ace of Spades —
the role perfectly suits you,
being the famous jock.
Reflect the truth —
about us, about what you feel for me.
I’ll be the Ace of Clovers —
three-leafed, ain’t so lucky, me.
Black souls, we both are.
Maybe love is for us, afterall.
And fortune, it awaits us.
But the cards don’t think that way.
Drop the sofa, there won’t be potato-lounging for long.
The daydreams fly as the facts sink in.
There are four aces left.
what’s going on isn’t right, can’t be right.
“Fortune loves you.” I can see that.
Your back’s facing me. No.
The cards must be lying.
The Aces betray reality.
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