Entering Londis with dishevelled hair, grey and gritty set by bed and dirt, Monday morning she crawls out her lair, A scrumpled blouse and floral skirt, Alone in the world or at least you think, down the isle contemplating how low we sink, gin today or wine, no gin stonger hit, a glass full and a cigarette just lit, Every day she comes in waiting for the day she dies, thats the old lady with the watery eyes.
Reason for writing:
suburban life
Birth sign: Gemini
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