Sunday, December 7, 2014

These Dirty Boots Are Made For Walking

These Dirty Boots Are Made For Walking
She walks alone in the shadows
of 707 Prentice Avenue,
her looks were of an old woman who suffered way too much in life,
in her left hand was her cell phone, waiting while another customer showed up.
A patrol passed by,
but it didn't stopped;
the lights in the horizon were quite distant,
and it bring her memories of a better life.
She wanted to escape, with her guitar;
play in small venue,
and make her voice sound.
Her boots are filled with blood, tears and shame;
as she used them, every time she got with a gent;
there is a broken paradise inside her mental state,
where the fogs of the bayou covered her paths in life,
and promises of easy money became her reality from the start.

A patrol passed by,
but it didn't stopped;
the lights in the horizon were quite distant,
and it bring her memories of a better life.

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