The Sweetest Things
The sound of Jazz fills the night
People perambulate under City-lights
Looking for luck where they might
The young hunters keep out of sight
Those whom never back from a fight
Whose knuckles have been worn white
Tonight she's the one they stalk
She strolls along the sidewalk
Finding her way down the blocks
Weaving with grace through the flock
Passed the line at the Blue Fox
You'll see her in thigh-high socks
Sitting there, feigning small talk
She hides herself in dimlight
and clouds of nicotine
She's no stranger to the night
or the social Bar Scene
She can set the mood just right
with black hair and eyes that gleam
She takes romance to new heights
and to some, she is the Queen
With hands that wish to grasp
Like smoke, that fail to clasp
This pain is her invention
This void is her intention
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