She is a victim of circumstance and time.

In dark opium dens she sings for rice wine,

She babbles and dabbles,

 As sex spews from her mouth.

Well I met her on a train heading south

She wasn’t chasing the dragon then,

But she looked as she had something to mend.

Well, she drank her coffee, she smoked her cigarettes,

But I could see she lived with regrets

Damn these flashes of love

She was like music on drugs

But that scene was killing me

as author I set me free

With wormwood in my heart and her on my arm

Now my lucky charm just brings me harm.

She was the Muse, but what could I do!

I had to leave her for something new.

Someone please stop this spontaneous flow of emotion before I write my life away.