If you treat
her right, your night will be nice
Was the
slogan that killed her honour every night
They said
her bed was the sweetest
Her touch
divine
Drunks came
to worship her
She was the
altar that demanded no sacrifice
She just lay
there and bled
Night after
night
And the
blind singer
Strummed his
sitar
As a heart
of stone
Began to
show cracks
She'd
forgotten she was a woman
She'd laid
aside her dreams
Her cries
for salvation
Were always
drowned out
By her faked
screams
And one day,
her bed grew cold
The
witchcraft was gone
For the
cracks in her heart of stone
Had bled for
the last time
The Bilge Master
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