The art of suicide, nightgowns and hair. Curls flying every which-way. The fate too pure to hide, ridges of size. Meant to conceal lover's lies. . Under the arches of moonlight and sky.
The art of suicide, nightgowns and hair. Curls flying every which-way. The fate too pure to hide, bridges of sighs. Meant to conceal lover's lies. . Under the arches of moonlight and sky.
Thank God I'm pretty. The occasional free drink I never asked for. The occasional admission to a seedy little bar. Invitation to a stranger's car. . I'm blessed with the ability to render grown men tongue-tied.