The Devil Wears Armani
The Devil wears Armani
By Steven Cooke
She was eighteen, I was thirty two
She was an unread poem,
I was yesterday’s gift.
Her heart she gave gladly,
Her beauty mine, to enjoy.
Given away in youthful sacrifice,
The Guilt was all mine.
But I take this gift,
For business is good,
And I seek many rewards.
What was love for her,
Was ego to me.
This man, her dream,
My dream, the pleasures of the night.
Her attraction, my Armani suit, my Astin Martin.
My attraction, just another bloom,
Found on the florists shelf.
So follow me, for Chanel no 5 Paris awaits.
Young beauty with eyes, so blue
And hair, so fair,
Who men desire
And women, love,
Come, your catwalk demands.
Look into my eyes, and see your future.
You will see my strength.
I will see my deceit.
You will see my friendship.
I will see my betrayal.
You will see your perfect love.
I will see a naked fool.
But do not judge me,
For my disciples are lined up.
Flashing their Cartier time piece, on life’s bar stool,
Intoxicated by their illusions,
Waiting, with a fashion house web.
To claim the next face,
The next soul, looking for love.
Just As the deserts wait for rain.
It is ordained
For the dove will find no love hear.
Only the thief,
Who takes her beauty, and plunders her love.
Who will tarnish her soul,
And steal her youth.
Only false Honour left
Kept in, A Gucci hand bag,
Full of lies, for friends to envy.
So look again my love
Choose wisely,
For the devil wears
Armani tonight.
And Prada will be his next victim.
Can I buy you a drink?
Love the dress.
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