Wednesday, August 12, 2009
"The Prostitute's Dream of Living Large"
The faithful whore indeed.
A foul decaying body, fiending,
Huge brown eyes, with a stench so raw
Layers of yellow tar on her skin,
blood scars underneath the nail beds,
A taste of nicotine, profound
to the touch of fingertips.
Oh' Sally Sticksler, the prostitute on
St. Peter's Street. A beautiful lady
whose dreams were lost
in the storm.
Beaten, bruised, almost dead,
no one cares where
she laid her head.
Yo' Miss Sally Twenty-Dollar tricks for a fix.
Buy you a house to live in,
but twenty dollars you have to give.
Feed and Supply your needs,
"Now! Whore! Get on your Knees!"
Commen't-allez Vous, Madam, a diverse clientele.
Night falls as the moon
lights up the dark. The cold
breeze warms her body, a tinglin'
of crippling hands. Breaking her back
making the dough. Closes her
eyes, she's flying high.
Elizabeth, looks at me
with regret and tears.
I'm sorry Elizabeth
for the lies. Of living
high and spendin' big, livin'
under the bright lights.
Mr. Dawson's night club alley way,
a trafficking joint, I'm alright,
I'm on high ground now, closer
to death than I've been before.
Body sprawled upon the ground,
covered in beer and piss
from the trash and the night before.
Livin' under the big bright
lights I didn't lie.
Vous-lez Vous Cliche' Avec Moi Achez-sois?
It calls to me.
Scouring to get up,
fill this beautiful lady's cup.
The church near by rings
its bells and hears my cries.
The Beautiful lady's raging storms through life.