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She is a hawk and a hawker that hail
The fog and trade the mugs to hell
She probe with her heart and prosecute with her art.
I fall for her rude game, the ruse she part
To all that care for her crude play
A grief that is spray to all that that never pray.
Imagine I was in love with her.
Her shrine was filled with pollution
And her ambition that of corruption
Her goods like sweet heart that smooths to death
Stole my heart and placed me on a heard health.
Not all her part she can trace
Except those her heart is close to
And the contest was, who to have her heart
But the heart she hanged and emit the heat
For us to drag and to choke to death
And I was wised and walked to my wealth
Which I droped for her sake, and the link
That we have sunk and freed me from
The hook of the hooker.
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AH! the ladies of the night! Throughout the ages they have been loved and hated by their `users` self guilt transformed onto the giver of pleasure for a price. A very interesting write on an age old subject.
Frances.
hay it is very irresposnible? maybe I cannot get you perfectly...none is a born prostitute...the circumstances destine them to be a prostitute...she is dignified, as I see...she is better...we play like a hell ...we buy flesh...we have hunger...she is just a trademan...she knows our preferences and sell her product accordingly...what is wrong in doing so? If is a sucker, every businessman is so. Maybe you too or I too!!!!!!!!!!!
