Debs

Men in suits of death, ask if we can cope, if they could only help, assist our search for dough, throw away the rope, measure lengths we'd go, what dreams we have left, do they think us dopes, sat on the bar like derelicts, are we only bones, high rollers in New York, as we walk the floor, dance tickets bear our wealth, the bleeding worm of hope, deep within our breasts, love our sense of glow, how long before we show, in trains on stations formed, the look of gravestones.