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• Artiste: B. Dolan
• Titre: Body Of Work
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Her story is getting old In a night with no company Stood up by the door so uncomfortably Gnawing at her thumb til it bleeds She's in the way Bent out of shape the money makes her wait The waitress looks her way and makes a face Staring at the empty plate Drift away... Shifty and agitated Frustration and despair Silent phone and lonely rage Why isn't he here We had a date... For chrissake... The corner's colder than the tomb The city air is empty I live in god's country I let the devil tempt me Drowing in the wishing well Surrounded in this living hell These people think they're better than me But I've got bellies to feed That dress is too expensive and that movie's been made I do for you you do for me it's a mutual exchange it fills a desperate need 3 hours late he finally texted me Lost his nerve, maybe next week Another deadbeat. Another drop of poison on my tongue Another cloud of smoke filling my lungs Rough kisses smudge the paint on my lips Hungry stomachs and tight fists Broken bones and bruised nerves Sounding the alert In a body of work. in a body of work. They promise her to the dirt in her body. The city is a blister Splitting open wide The rotted shell of an insect Laid out on its side A little death The hot white spotlight Paints the darkness With our silhouttes I haven't met the numbers in my head and can't go home yet Instead I'm slouched against a post on a fence Posing for them that pose a threat and hold me by the neck Approaching next the slack jaws and fat rolls Who get what they ask for The dashboard glows I tug at my clothes Try to act casual Tell them what it costs to rob me They look me up and down and then we bargain over parts of my body and mind... seperate The hour is getting late The lost time Dividing dollar signs before my eyes I should've sized them up better but it's a long drive at the end of an off-night and they seemed alright I never ask too many questions Get in at the intersection to slip from the city's memory and what do you get... Another drop of poison on my tongue Another cloud of smoke filling my lungs Rough kisses smudge the paint on my lips Hungry stomachs and tight fists Broken bones and bruised nerves Sounding the alert In a body of work. in a body of work. They promise her to the dirt in her body.