She lay with gloom upon the bed
as outside blinked a garish red
which found its way into her room.
Upon the bed she lay with gloom.
She lay with grief; she lay with rue,
with shabby walls a gray milieu
and circumstance the unmoved thief.
She lay with rue; she lay with grief.
As neon flashed, she lay and thought
of coming west, how hard she'd fought,
and how her dreams had all been dashed.
She lay and thought as neon flashed.
She lay with shame; a thrust of fate
had left her with a wretched weight
and stole her hungering for fame.
A thrust of fate. . . she lay with shame.
Behind closed doors she'll take each john.
She lay with one, and so hereon
she's joined the order of the whores.
She'll take each john behind closed doors.
For the Contest of Black Eyed Susan