Promiscuous

She acted like a slut on the dance floor,
Promiscuity in her hips, becoming what he wanted just for him,
Wouldn’t you believe she wasn’t me; no she was always just a he,
No you wouldn’t believe she wasn’t me, but I pity her,
Poor girl-or-boy, just his latest oh-so pretty toy.

She wasn’t me; I’ll tell you truthfully, she wasn’t me,
Yet I am her in each and every way when she isn’t just another he,
Blending into the flashing, dark dancefloor crowd,
Waiting for the cover of the music as it gets loud, loud, loud.

Wearing sunglasses at night, and walking in jeans way to tight,
To show him how she feels in each and every way,
(Yes each and every way that she could find today)
Waiting for a sign that she’ll never, never find while searching from this height.

I’ll wait too, even if it never stays the same as love and luck,
She told me years ago that everyone just wants to be loved,
But he, he’s never going to love her how she’d have liked,
Never even thought of her as anymore than just another one-night fuck.

She’s not true, no, no, no she’ll never be you,
But she’s still beautiful in a Cheshire cat sense,
Not Alice, whimsical and searching still for Wonderland,
Shaking shivers, little glimmers, of a world she cannot see.

She’s his long term friend in ways that she shouldn’t be,
Watching as he self destructs with each (and every) puff of air,
Disappearing before he’s ever really, truly been there.