Painted lady of the night,

Where do you dwell when all is light,

Stretched across a strangerís bed,

Lips and cheeks of rose bud red,

Skin so soft and white.

 

For years such beauty I have sought,

For less than you I've cursed and fought,

You're worth much more,

Than any whore,

That twenty ever bought.

 

I find that I desire you

In spite of what you are and do,

For who am I, that I condemn,

For I have much to make amend,

In all that I've gone through.

 

We linger now for just a while,

A tender kiss, a loving smile,

Should I propose that she and I,

Link up in life until we die,

Traveling every mile.

 

It's good to feel a body near,

No hate or hurt no dread or fear,

A pillow rests beneath my head,

My heart content, my pleasure fed,
All life seems now so clear,

 

For hours I have slumbered on,

And woke in time to greet the dawn,

Reality, oh how I dread.

I lay alone upon this bed,

For certain she has gone.

 

She's gone, my mind begins to yell,

I'm stung, more than my heart can tell.

I'll look, I'll find her, this I'm sure,

I'll tell of my desire for her,

No longer need she sell.

 

For weeks I searched the dim nightspots

Where a soul of many dies and rots.

I looked upon each painted face,

Each bar, each flop, each low life place,

Reliving times forgot.

 

Each place I saw the gals I knew,

They'd grab my arm and kid and coo,

But I dare not to once relent,

This mission where each night was spent,

For none but her would do.

 

My cronies soon were not to be,

They knew not what had troubled me,

My search seemed endless, all in vain,

I would not see that face again,

That face I yearned to see.

 

Long weeks had passed, the nights were cold,

Where whores are bought and drunks are rolled,

I walked the shadows of the street,

And who by chance then should I meet,

That face I now behold.

 

I said remember if you can,

This face this look, I am the man.

One time with you I spent the night,

I kissed your lips I held you tight,

And now Iíve got a plan.

 

She smiled and listened, I talked away,

She was quiet as I said, all I had to say,

Soon she frowned,

As she turned around

And said as she walked away.

 

It's not possible to marry me,

My life demands that I be free.

Iíve been married before,

I'm just a whore,

That's all I'll ever be.

 

Soon she was gone in the shadow of night,

Not gone from my heart, but out of my sight.

She could never give up

Her bitter cup

Though she knew it had never been right.

 

Painted lady where do you dwell,

I miss you more than I dare tell,

In streets and alleys, shadows cold,

Where whores are bought and drunks are rolled,

I'll stay, till called to hell.

used by permission
Copyright © Ron Bliss
All Rights Reserved 

     

 


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