Lydia
Gregor MacKintosh / Nick Holmes
through the searching lights that weave and dart
comes the stranger that cares not for your heart
the pain of living life this way
must take its toll on you some day
your jaded eyes can see
embarrassment or harm
the frail skin that bleeds
emotionally on guard
all lowest forms of life are pounding you inside
you're hollow cold display your tired masquerade
let the image that you present entice
unlike the mirror that shows the strains of vice
this act of contact your decay
while willing souls will more than pay