Pawn

Lipstick, cherry red

A face, a body you can’t get out of your head

Hair done, nails too

A look that suggests they want to screw you

High heels, make up on

You’re the bishop, they’re the pawns;

Another pony in a fucking parade,

A pigeon willing to play the game

Where the rule is and always has been

To win not the hearts, but the desire of men.

But guess again

Because beauty quickly fades

In this perilous brigade

When seen with the eyes, not felt by the heart.

But how can you be expected to get that

In the end

When you’ve been this shallow from the start?

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