Quarter past midnight she silently skulks the forsaken streets



Dressed in a jet black trench coat cloaked by horrific flashbacks



Suppressed within a harrowing masquerade of profound sorrows



Daunting tears of shame gently ooze from the roots of her tear ducts



Uncontrollably they trickle down the surface of her somber cheeks



A majestic shadow of fear trails behind her in the swift breeze



Stalking her every breath, her every word her every move



And every quirky little rhythm of her eccentric groove



You see in this woman's eyes love was such a rare concept



Every night she gave away what men thought was true love



Yet in reality their imaginations were running away with the wind



Every word that was said, every emotion that was bled all fake



This kind hearted woman was loved for someone who she wasn't



Around her town she was labeled the queen of the mattresses



But underneath is it really worth sacrificing her integrity?



Is it worth ruining her identity, her dignity, her self esteem?



Tell me where is the sense in selling herself to the dogs?



And giving them permission to violate her rightful privacy



Her cranium had blatantly been rocked too hard against those sheets



And now she has lost herself along with the rest of the harlots



All because she sold her soul to the shaft of Satan's *****