Lipstick smears on her centre piece
That was botoxed till it’s a crime
It’s time for the Friday night ritual
To make it past closing time.
There’s no way to beat the boredom
The emotion instructs the mind
Unless you keep the tradition
To play way past closing time.
Though she thinks she is hot
The size of her dress belies
The cold that is hers outside
Way past the closing time.
She loves the super attention
But knows it’s a deep as their eye
But she takes it while it’s on offer
Hopes it lasts until closing time.
Her subjects begin to leave
Bellies full of alcohol slime
Emptiness begins to fill her
Cos she knows that it’s closing time.
The taxi ride home seems a blur
As the keys let her stagger inside
So she can do it again
That’s the promise of closing time.