Girls in bars,
are neon angels.
Floating,
with a rhythmic sway.

They dread
the breaking of day.
Drawing the shades,
they hide away.

Death girls.
"Come sit with me,"
they call,
"Buy a drink
and we'll drink to the night."

They long to watch a cock rise,
then die before their eyes.
Vancant eyes
are their quiet disguise.

They hide from life,
from themselves.
Where reality fails,
the night prevails.

Death girls.
They are our angels.
We flock to them like moths to a flame.
We give them false hope,
they give us someone to blame.
Together we share our shame.

Death girls and the damned,
blindly dancing denile.
Feeling loved,
for just a little while.