Her eyes,
Melting away,
Into sadness,
Into decay,
People who,
Describe her look,
May say she's undecided,
But not a crook,
When she rises early in the morning,
She makes no sound,
She lost her soul,
Away the music of her heart has fled,
She rolls off the mattress,
and get dressed to meet the dead,
Many find her,
By following lust,
Thinking with their trousers,
Not with their hearts,
She thinks of the night before,
Her body aches in agony,
Of who are present and who are gone,
How does she manage?
How does she begin?
She once dreamt of,
Being an artist; a dancer,
But her future's decided,
She went from a classy square,
To a working girl.