[04|monologue] lipstick and callous and fishnets and malice
I don't know if we were in love, but we were sure as hell in something.
It sounds like a quite the story, doesn't it? The widow with millions and her dead husband's secretary (a quick, skinny bird by the name of Jack). Too bad it ends with her--me, actually, let's not get cute--on the streets with nothing but the clothes on my back, the candy in my hat, and all the jewels I could sew into the lining of my dress.
How did that happen? Wouldn't you like to know.
Some lucky gent is about to find out. I'm leaning against a lamppost why there are lampposts indoors I have no idea with a cigarette in my lips, managing to look down on my luck in spite of the ermine around my neck and the thousand-dollar green glitter of the dress hugging my thighs.
I never pretend to be innocent. You won't hear any be kind to me, be generous here. It's part of the appeal. Not everybody wants a sweet little girl in white. Just wait. Someone will take it, hook, line, and sinker.
It sounds like a quite the story, doesn't it? The widow with millions and her dead husband's secretary (a quick, skinny bird by the name of Jack). Too bad it ends with her--me, actually, let's not get cute--on the streets with nothing but the clothes on my back, the candy in my hat, and all the jewels I could sew into the lining of my dress.
How did that happen? Wouldn't you like to know.
Some lucky gent is about to find out. I'm leaning against a lamppost why there are lampposts indoors I have no idea with a cigarette in my lips, managing to look down on my luck in spite of the ermine around my neck and the thousand-dollar green glitter of the dress hugging my thighs.
I never pretend to be innocent. You won't hear any be kind to me, be generous here. It's part of the appeal. Not everybody wants a sweet little girl in white. Just wait. Someone will take it, hook, line, and sinker.