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Dark End of Town
Tom Cantwell © 2000

A dry pink carnation pressed between pages of an old tattered diary she kept as a child
Its petals are faded and no longer fragrant as are the memories, no longer alive.
Long bleached blonde tresses tangled and knotted as the unnatural hunger by which she is bound
There are letters from home never opened unanswered addressed to a dear one on the Dark End of Town.

Holes in her stockings and holes in her arms and a torn ragged hole where there once was a heart
The street well it giveth and it taketh away, it seems that life sometimes imitates art
Pull up a seat no show is complete until each last crumb has been swept from the ground
The journey she started unabashed and whole hearted has come full circle on the Dark End of Town

Now, some folks look for money, some search for fame, some folks spend their whole life trying to kill the pain, as this old world goes spinning around
It leaves more than a few broken hearts... on the Dark End of Town

Before you condemn her try and remember she was somebody’s darling a long time ago
And there really aint no difference between streetlights and footlights everyone wants to be caught in the glow
Teachers and preachers all failed to reach her, then left her to the mercy of saints, sinners, and clowns
The cold neon flickers, from the stores that sell liqueur and she's freezing from the heat on the Dark End of Town

....Watch over her Jesus on the Dark End of Town