The air is still
|
it's five o'clock
|
wet streamers from red walls
|
the rocks are thick
|
with dampened ashes
|
as the morning falls
|
|
a plastered laugh
|
shrieks echoing
|
cross-faded with a tortured snore
|
concluding groans of desperate sex
|
from every bolted door
|
|
one more glass of luke-warm wine
|
and one more fancy cigarette
|
she wraps a sheet
|
around her waist
|
this evening is not finished yet
|
|
everyone on valentine's got drunk enough to kiss her
|
tonight she will be satisfied with something if it kills her
|
|
she executes through broken glass of vomit touching dance
|
through slips of papers, names and numbers scrawled in drunken hands
|
sliding down the sticky stairwell lucky cinderella's hair
|
and somebody should notice her
|
some passed out prince beneath the chair
|
everyone on valentine's got drunk enough to kiss her
|
tonight she will be satisfied with something if it kills her
|
|
nothing's left except the stench
|
and bottles in the bar
|
she hangs the streamers
|
up again
|
turns on the disco ball
|
and sitting there
|
the day before
|
with all the patience in the world
|
she swears she won't
|
get up until
|
she feels like she's a real live college girl
|
|
-----------------
|
Eclectic Song
|
| Amanda Palmer |
