I'm on this journey for what-ever reason,
I have to look around me in places, through years of seasons,
to really dig up what it is that's there,
hoping that my due will come to me with compassion and care.
Granted - sometimes a hint is just enough - what you need - just a glimpse,
A Norma Desmond character, and I her pimp (yet, doted on like her chimp)
I know how that story ends,
yet I'm certain that this version will not offend
It's so cowardly in it's outward glory.
A Porter mistress shows signs of old lonesome times
while the heart bleeds, finding the answers to "why me" whines
sugar coated in Domestic crimes.
She cannot stop herself, from her victim state,
all she needs is a second to turn the page in the book of history telling a story of ole' grainy fate -
long ago - When she was the queen, with mac the knife, the grand ole king.
A big studio executive
A variable that often reads opportune and effective
What has she seen, imagine what she has done
Prancing in her Chanel pumps
Crossing oceans on pan am fun
A flying valet to court her to her destination
A carriage ride of bounty
Unyielding hesitation that rings so true of a saggaterian affliction.
Headstrong in throws of park avenue Ecstasy
Get a grip through it all
put a face on with some plastic gauze
just another
bloody Sunday
ripe with old wears and puckered tears
as the Grammy woes -the old chime and chirp of
vintage vine.
It's Fine.
Sunday, Bloody Sunday.
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