| |
She walks through the room, a swish in her step,
the strong sweet stench of love surrounding like a cloud.
Deep scarlet velvet rustles as she moves,
And I know that tonight the screaming will be loud.
Thursday night, eight p.m. sharp,
Her voice is as sweet as the music of a harp
And tonight she'll have a solo, she'll play it hard, she'll play it loud.
When the act is finally through she'll play it to the crowd.
Why must you be such a beautiful lady?
Why must you be so full of charm?
Why can't you see that maybe, just maybe,
Your causing so much anguish and harm?
Why can't you see that life could be better?
Why can't you see that your life needs to change?
Why can't you know that the world could be so different?
Don't you find your life at all strange?
Tonight it's Mr. Johnson, tomorrow Mr. Rose,
Then Baker, then Thacker,
Then who the Hell knows.
Your eyes shine like diamonds, your skin's smooth and clear,
Take a drag off your joint and the man is suddenly here.
Slink across the main room, throw open the door,
Let the young man enter, drop your clothes onto the floor,
Feign a night of passion, wear the mask, play the game:
To you it doesn't matter, him or another, they're all the same.
The night pulses on like the beating of a heart,
I hear the same old words every night, it's like an art.
You know what to say, how to be, what to do
They all come back for more after just one night with you.
|
Help Us Stop Plagiarism -
Nearly all works at PnP are original. However a few people choose to plagiarize.
To check, choose a phrase from the work, then either drag and drop to the search box or copy and paste.
click on search and works at Google will be shown which match. Just to be sure, please do this before
you recommend or rate the work highly...
|
 |
|
|
|
Select a Random Work from Poetry
|
|