We Ain'T Got That Kind-A Shine

ladies of the night are dressed in finest lace while hiding in the shadows where they never leave a trace on barren - broken - bastard streets these ladies have no face with tarnished tassels in their hair they stand like statues there and stare the ladies of the night now lean in darkened doorways while they sip selected wine and watch two lovers writhe entwined upon the floor where bleeding whores are losing life from open sores where punctured veins and death remains inside a fantasy that reigns with bitter dreams of better things that lost tomorrows never bring now lovers covered - soiled and stained with bursting leaks from wounded veins where needles of inclusion can create and make illusion last beyond the degradation as they stride in "sharp" persuasion unto death of one whole nation in complete discreet oblation can't find a lot of pity in a dark and dirty city as the waste is placed in alleyways and vagrants void themselves on steamin' streets at dawn while new commuters stop to yawn as night concerns now fade to gone all is lost at higher cost inside a pride that has been tossed onto the gutter - where machismo men just shudder as they lose their life-time rudder leaving all directions and erections on the street's abstract inflections just before they lose connection with their soul forgetting obligations where unique configurations seem to supplement and compliment the pain the mutual - conceptual - PAIN who is the dreamer and who owns the dream? who is the screamer in the scream? it's you and I dear friend of mine we dream the dream and scream the scream as part of Eden's Garden Scene but we don't ever cross the line cause we ain't got that kind-a shine