She places feet on tile sheet and sinks under pride,
But not an ounce of diffidence will show.
The shower seems to make her scream, she puts it aside
Until her frozen feet are fully clothed.
Her body is a prize no living man can claim.
Her conscience has started to roam.
Adoration at its best is the only thing to blame.
Her headdress accustoms her robe,
But she's getting so tired of it.
He wears a suit, but what's the use? It's all that he has
To show the crowd that suits are suiting him.
He must report the sleeves are short. He's not fitting in
To clothes or jobs in which he must look trim.
So he's shaving off his beard and saving all his dough
To purchase new slacks and bright ties.
But once his hair had disappeared, his woe began to grow.
He purchased pseudo acts and white lies,
And he's getting so tired of it.
What is left for chance or for fate?
All the hands I shake feel the same.
The hooks I stole to reel them in.
The taste of blood, the touch of skin.
Is it all worth something in the end?
Cuz I'm getting so tired of it.