she steps into the dressing room
and straps on her feet
thinking this surely is the life
and the money can't be beat
she smears on her war paint
swallows a quick drink
lights a cigarette and
sways off to the brink
of mental destruction
and the cold hard truth
that every nights collision
is stealing away her youth
it angers her more than
she'll ever let it show.
that the commodity is
her own self and the
price is way to low.
She steps upon the stairs
and releases free her mind
waiting for the familiar music
as she did every time
a deep breath is passed through
her lungs, and silent tears fall,
she performs with her heart and
soul for each and all.
Her grace is her confusion
her beauty is her pain
to dance the life of a dancer
is to feel untamable pain
the music beats loud enough
to hide the sighs and screams
of a woman be it young or old
whom is selling all her dreams