soft pawn

Swapped her cheap crucifix for a soupçon of stardust

Now both saint and sinner don’t know who to trust

Yet under a raw red light a price is agreed

By he who is wanting and she who’s in need

Her address you can find by charting the stars

Reading ragged postcards, asking in bars

Perpetual the loser, always second best

She thinks as a lost sheep unaware that she’s blessed

The city cries for outcasts as day turns to night

Street lamps to the punter, moths to the light

Grabbing their chances, riding their luck

Some end up in gutters, some make a fast buck

Some offer salvation, they make cups of sweet tea

Brass bands and war cries they suspect is the key

The helpless gifted mercy, yet no rich reward

There’s no place in Eden, if you’re just one of the horde

A new day’s sun rises, fresh…

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