She puts on her lipstick
And her best dress
A little black number
That's bound to impress.
She looks in the mirror
And puckers her lips
As she runs her pale palms
From her breasts to her hips.
Splashes on the perfume
And combs her blonde hair
Pours herself another
And sits on the chair.
She looks at me and wonders
If I'm thinking of her
Lights a cigarette
And plays with her hair.
She wants me to listen
With a smile on my face
While she talks of her style
Her elegance and grace.
But I can't help feeling my kindness was abused
How did I end up feeling so used?
听
