She had T.S. Eliot tattooed on her side, a huge ego and matching pride, she was my Hyacinth girl, and I turned her into my wasteland, disgraced and bent flesh under hand, we wriggled and writhed, while she looked for forced entry, I tried to bruise thigh,
Belladonna the lady of the rocks, she slammed ashore, and begged to be treated as a whore, and I granted her this simple kindness, clenched fist around long hair, the tug the pull and gasp for air, neither here nor there, time was lost,
We were rats in the alley where the bones of men were lost, the frost of her icy stare, ripped the humanity clean from my eager bone, for a brief moment we were not alone, honed goals and missions, disturbed by our persistence,
Hurry up Please it's time,
Hurry up Please it's time,
The soft Thames would run softly until we finished our song, laying waste to our land, the dust would settle, and fog would lift, so clear was the rift, we were the rats in alleys, set to scurry at the sight of cats, but never would we feel guilt, for our brushes with humanity.
Hurry up Please it's time.
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