She walks the night, it’s hot, it’s sweaty there
In dark corners. The commerce of the street
Goes on when other businesses can’t bear
The stench of economy’s dying beat.
When men can’t thump their chests for all to see,
When frightened for the treasure they have lost,
When masters lose that thing that sets them free,
She’s there to ease their pain, but at what cost
To family, to reputation. How
Can ships be righted, bumping in the night
Against her loins? Does the mirage allow
The fool to think that this will make it right?
The chase makes powerful men think they’re kings,
But she knows better. “Tragedy,” she sings.