James Bond the Poet
Double oh Sevens
The gamble of dangerous men
Poets who carry guns
To shoot out the hearts
Of unsuspecting ladies
A single word, a bullet
That can wound or kill the love
Of any careless romance
Yet they fall at the feet
Of mystery and sweet words
And later in the evening
Tears flow from ladies of sadness
Left alone among the sheets of love
The Spy, he could save the world
Yet save not one single love
He grew old and alone
His last thought among the living
I die a lover, and never felt love
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