She's just a pretty weed,
planted in this city of gray,
the colossal skyscrapers
suffocating
smothering
her innocence
with spires of steel.
Take this umbrella,
open it up,
but will it stop the rain?
The acid rain will open
the old wounds
and melt her facade away.
Maybe your protection is not what she craves.
Your touch will send her over the edge,
a caress away from sin,
and a heartbeat away from submission.
Let your smile chase away the slivers of darkness
from her tortured mind.
She's a tragic beauty,
a melancholy aphrodite.
The siren of the streets and sewers;
hear her song.
It echoes of fifty dollar w***** and heartbreak,
of bums and cigarette butts.
Walk with your head high,
as soon as the music stops,
you're just another victim.
You gave everything to her,
but all she gave you were
love letters written with smoke in the sky,
the smokestacks spewing words into
the starless night.
Her last memento was a kiss disguised
as a gunshot wound.
The streets were never nice to fools.
She was just a pretty weed.
