Picture postcard lips and perfect hair, dressed to thrill but only her.
Older than she looks to them, but a heart inside younger still.
It takes longer now to look as good as this and makup steals many years.
No strings no ties she's free tonight to drink and dance till mornings light..
A spirit free to dance all night, till sunrise when her feet catch fire.
Many flit like moths to flame, she has no time for their games.
She dances as though her life depended upon it, with every note limbs extended.
Her eyes closed tight, oh she's not here, you weren't born where she now is.
Morning came and she fled the scene, just a face within their dreams.
She went native and off the path and disappeared, until next time...