Post by Rosetta on Oct 30, 2011 20:30:52 GMT
She reaches for the dial on the radio,
tuning into some late night talk-show;
alone again in her empty old room,
missing her lover, sitting in old gloom,
but her tired smile will be pasted back soon.
She goes to work in that smutty old room,
arranging her hair then bathing and perfuming,
seeking to survive selling love in the gloom,
painting on her smile to hide a sad tear,
when men come to find love, they have no fear
of the painted lady alone with her sad old tinny radio,
listening by herself, to the late night show,
her smile all false as her lipstick smears,
kissing the Johns and swallowings her tears.
Her life is a game with love as the coins,
filling in the gaps by appeasing their loins,
just an ageing trollop, performing for her money,
crying inside as she finds nothing funny.
The times are so long, nights sad and shady,
no more songs for that sad painted lady.
tuning into some late night talk-show;
alone again in her empty old room,
missing her lover, sitting in old gloom,
but her tired smile will be pasted back soon.
She goes to work in that smutty old room,
arranging her hair then bathing and perfuming,
seeking to survive selling love in the gloom,
painting on her smile to hide a sad tear,
when men come to find love, they have no fear
of the painted lady alone with her sad old tinny radio,
listening by herself, to the late night show,
her smile all false as her lipstick smears,
kissing the Johns and swallowings her tears.
Her life is a game with love as the coins,
filling in the gaps by appeasing their loins,
just an ageing trollop, performing for her money,
crying inside as she finds nothing funny.
The times are so long, nights sad and shady,
no more songs for that sad painted lady.
