Corridor of Portraits

Revenge

Alright. So

Dark alley, bright pub, accusing streetlights

People dancing to the hip-hop beat of the night

The monster’s inside, but before I throw a punch

He’s half-drowned in his thrown-up lunch

Step right near, and he pins me to a wall

I reach into my pocket and I unfold my shawl

I put on my gloves and shove him as he gropes

Into the corner, and he’s already past hope

My face goes stiff like I’m playing poker

I give the drunken monster a pretty, pretty choker

Nice and handmade, I heard that it’s the fashion

Then he’s gone and he’s out like a fire born of passion

And I’m out too, of this place smelling of vomit

If there’s a medal for sneaky exits, I sure darn won it

Shawl in the sewer and gloves in the drain

Hood up, zip up, catch the midnight train

That’s how he looked when he died, I’m serious

Well, minus the colour that makes me feel delirious

Have it written here in pencil, or engraved in memory

He was pretty darn hard to forget, you see

Flash my ticket, through the gates

Sitting down, it’s pretty late

That’s when I realise—