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
Copyright © Tom Mcmurray | Year Posted 2011
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