Decadance

she takes her most rotten dress
she daubs her lips with blood
she pierces herself one or two boil
no she’s ready for go to dance
she takes her car, turn on the radio
she’s happy, tonight she’s hideous
she parks her car before the bobby’s printing office
she smiles, tonight is the night
she enters hastily and takes off her shoes
bobby turns on presses, she’s ready

she’s ready for the decadance

she begins her first dance of the evening
the ink’s smell excites her more
she dances, dances, dances out of breath
she imagines herself some lyrics in her head
which could supplement all this imperial trouble
she thinks to the fields of factories, workers and deads

she turns around presses, her dress is wet
she forgots that’s she’s hideous, ’cause she dances
tears of joy run on her infected skin
the saturday night is for her the decadance

she dances