It's a long walk up the whorehouse stairs.
She waits in that room every night.
Don't matter who limbers up those stairs.
He sips the last of the bottle dropping it at his feet.
The shattering glass chases out of his mind the thoughts of a whore.
But the size of the Sin that stole her sleep.
When you let them write a check for your soul,
You let the Devil swallow you whole.
He knew the devil well.
She took him in hopes of learning something.
Neither could spell the word God.
But they raged and ravaged against each other.
Sweat mixing with the blood of broken hearts.
And he loved her, but he left her.
And she loved him, but she took on the next one.
As whores always must.
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