Beautiful Girls

He puts his makeup on
just like they do to hide his scars,
he lines and lids his eyes
to mask their shade--
gilds himself with jewels
to jack him up to weigh him down,
and paints his mouth exquisite if
you just ignore the frown.

In shades of skin and shaken pride
he shows off all he's got--
it's not much left but once undressed
might look like quite a lot.
And if it rains then that's okay
because he never cries,
and the water is his dearest friend
in holding up that lie.

He is just another one
of the pretty girls out here,
he is just another one
of the lovely girls.
He is just
another bore,
another toy
another whore;
he is just another one
of the beautiful girls.

With downcast eyes
he tells them what they want--
that's why he's paid;
to make sure all his customers
feel nice.
For cash he'll do most anything,
an angel tearing off his wings,
and wondering if it's really worth the price.

Through seven beds in seven nights
and one more for the rush--
the feelings stick with each new trick
his will is slowly crushed.
He says that this is all he needs
and maybe that is true,
but he'd like to know what love is just
one time before he's through.

He is just another one
of the pretty girls out here,
he is just another one
of the lovely girls.
He is just
another bore,
another toy
another whore;
he is just another one
of the beautiful girls.

My precious pleasure's friend,
when will your madness end?
What have you done with all your charms?

Oh weeping pretty boy,
poor deadsmile fuck-me toy,
how does it feel to be alone in someone's arms?

You are just another one
of the pretty girls out here,
you are just another one
of the lovely girls.
You are just
another bore,
one more sad tale among
the whores;
you are just another one
of the beautiful girls.

12/2004 A.K. LaBelle