Lyric therapy

Dahlings, as it’s been such a while since I subjected you to my attempts at rhyme, I’ve decided we might as well break that dry spell. Besides, I’m broody this Monday, and what better way to recover than a cathartic attempt at bad song-writing? Feel free to volunteer your melody suggestions ...

He’s a punk with a silver-studded belt,
Gotta knack for making women swiftly melt —
El Bandito, the thief of hearts.

His eyes flash with laughter
At an unspoken joke;
That’s the way he does the pulses
Of the ladies provoke:
El Bandito, the thief of hearts.

He will passively confront
With an animal grunt
If his time you try to waste
In bad musical taste.
El Bandito, the thief of hearts.

He drinks coffee like it’s water.
Played at Halo, leaves a slaughter.
You could say he is aggressive,
But that’s not why he’s impressive,
El Bandito, the thief of hearts.

He’s a reader
And a leader
And a speeder.

He’s a flirt,
Sometimes curt —
Maybe hurt?

To this man you’ve gotta hand it —
He’s an inadvertent bandit.
Who will help him turn from robbing
To a mutual heart-throbbing?
El Bandito, the thief of hearts.

He’s a punk with a silver-studded belt,
Still unsure love’s in the hand that he’s been dealt.
El Bandito, the thief of hearts.

You can’t plan the future’s thunder;
Guess we’ll simply have to wonder
If Bandito gets that miracle,
The cynical turned lyrical.

Coming later this week: Anna fields more reader questions, dumps her love-life council for a new advisor ...