With these cards pressed to your chest
The Jack of Spades invades your breast
And binds your heart with two small hands
Whose iron grip holds tight and fast.
And, jealous of the passers-by
Who might desire to spend some time
With the person they thought they knew
And not this stranger, become you-
The black Jack turns your smile down
And reins your features to a frown.
He doesn’t like these challengers
Who less and less are seen, or heard;
Your poker face was once a mask
The first to bluff, and now the last.