Like an old box, by a lamppost,
Soaked in the morning rain,
Like a tin can, discarded and misplaced,
Singing out its pain,
Like a newspaper, caught in a breeze,
That flutters from place to place,
Till it's caught in a tree,
Trapped within the branches,
With no means of escape.

Like a road, that leads nowhere,
And has nowhere to go,
Like a dried up stream, of yesteryear,
That will never again flow,
Like the weeds, that choke the soil,
Stealing away natures beauty,
Like the rusty broken leaves,
That fall from the dead tree,
When the cycle has no need to begin again,

Cause when the day is over,
The day is done,
And it is time to turn out the light.
To close the curtains,
Shut out the world,
And free yourself from the fight.
To leave the room,
Close the door,
And lie with the fallen.
Cause when the story ends,
The story is finished,
And the writer puts down the pen.

The waiting silence of the room is broken, when a door at the far end is swiftly opened; They enter one by one and take up their positions, they are given a moment to make final preparations.

The Lady, she enters with confidence, and like well-trained dogs, they stand in obedience; She got a unique style that cannot be matched by another, a fashion that gives the eye nothing but pleasure.

The Lady’s beauty is considered undeniable, she has a smile that renders each one of them incapable, of acting in any other way than as a gentleman, standing tall and proud with the best of them.

The Lady dresses in lace, she dresses in leather, she floats as glides as light as a feather; The Lady glances at them as they straighten, stood like statues they await their inspection.

The Lady doesn’t speak as she has no need to, through gestures and nods they know what to do; Her maid walks beside her making whispered notes - never catching an eye - in her Mistress pleasure she is engrossed.

Once the Lady has walked the line and circled the room, she pauses for a moment in silent contemplation; The Lady considers their attributes and the pleasure they may offer, she has a need to satisfy, a desire that has become a hunger.

The Lady raises her head as she crosses to leave, but before she does she catches her maids sleeve, bringing her close she whispers briefly into her ear, and swiftly exits with only her fragrance left in the air.

The maid crosses to the one chosen as her Lady’s choice, the winner declared but the others do not consider it a loss; they nod to one another as they break their statuesque poses, relaxing their postures, and pulling free the bows.

The Lady’s choice is the first to leave the room, and then one by one their presence is removed; The door at the far end is then gently closed, and a waiting silence returns to the room.