This is the tenth night
She has been awake again.
Finishing ink bottles and scribbling her thoughts.
It has been ages someone sat by her
And hear her vent.
It's just the curtains , cushions
Doors and windows who hear her lament.
A voluptuous figure she is,
This what the world thinks her to be.
Visit her home.
The lipstick stained cigarette butts
The overturned ashtray
The empty beer bottles
The messed up rooms.
Clamour a complete different story on whole.
Oh , how well she conceals her flaws.
Like a chasm filled with flowers to make a show.