I see them as they are; sad little girls
In old ladies bodies, in hand me down shoes
On their hand me down street corner stations
That the last painted lady left them
Their only precious inheritance.
A generation deluded by movies
Closing their eyes, putting on the uniform
Shutting out horrors, dreaming of retirement
Knowing their street sense is better than the last’s.
She was found behind the bar cold and dead.
While yet another sad little girl
In her very own way wronged; betrayed
Steps on the sidewalk excited; in control.
And watching for Edward Lewis’s Lotus,
She is quickly consumed by the streets.