Polk Street Belle

Sitting in a Polk Street watering hole,

just like the very first night here,

many years have past though not very far,

give me a fag to smoke and a beer.

Everyone else on their way to someone,

sitting alone and assumed to be okay,

sideways glances that can’t be undone,

sleeping alone in the night and by day.

I can’t relate and probably never will,

there is no song I am inspired to sing,

you can’t get real emotions from a pill,

there is no bad belle to polish or ring.

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