King of Pigs

This is a man’s world, as it goes
And yet out here you think you command;
Hold all the aces;
Take all the shots.
How foolish you are, my dear

Letting your hair fall down against your shoulders
Letting it toss around in the wind
You think
They adore you

But would their smiles be quite the same
Should you let them
Through your front door
Or would they simply turn on you

In the same second, if another
As beautiful and rakish were to appear
Wouldn’t they just dance in the mud
For her
Perhaps with even more fever

Wouldn't they love her as much
Best not to know
For it is bliss, isn’t it — ignorance

Pretty young thing that you are
The truth is so sharp and your skin
Much too soft and warm
Butter beneath their teeth

They’d rip you open; forget
Your smile
And set your successor upon a
Throne of your bones