The same is also true in inverse
In terms of my impact on your verse
When at first you me adored
I turned you into a troubadour.
Of course, there were those poems to Brenda,
But that, enfin, was just a bender.
So now you've lost your taste for Jews,
Is the Lao girl your new muse?
Do you write her verses splendid?
Or is that sort of thing now...ended?
Who is she, that big-eyed thing?
And when you fucked her, did you wear your ring?
I guess she doesn't write you nasty poems,
or sweet and rhapsodic ones either.
Instead she emits (I guess) little whiny moans,
and I... float off ... into the aether.

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