Swan

Usual suspects, usual jokes Usual banter, usual pokes Mates forever, friends for a time Band plays their favourites And feelings they mime. Swan glides in and rests on a seat, Regal and classy-to them she's fresh meat, Colour has come to their black and white screen They smile and look friendly but she knows what they mean. She has saved three months for the dress that she owns But the vultures around want to pick at her bones She wants a connection, she's looking for more But she's come in alone, she must be a whore. The men have escaped from the kids and the wives, Three or four pints and they live different lives, The drink makes them think they are sex on a stick But the swan only smiles and thinks 'yet one more prick'. She knows she won't meet him in this type of place She knows in her heart his mind and his face But while she's still waiting she'll fill up her time With music and laughter and feelings they mime.