Stepping Stones
by cricketjeff on December 8, 2010. © Jeff Green, All rights reserved
In the evening she’s a dancer wearing panties and a smile
Winning money from admirers as she loves them for a while
On the pole she’s pert and pretty advertising raw desire
But the men who pay to watch cannot know who fans her fire
He just works to earn a living any job that pays the rent
He wants fame ahead of fortune, not a life of discontent
While she sleeps he’s lost in writing chasing concepts through his mind
Picking tunes out on his keyboard there are chords he has to find
Then she’s princess of the tables, wearing less than nothing much
Selling dreams to perfect strangers who can look but never touch
Shedding clothes in sensual ripples showing all he’ll never own
Drinking champagne men have bought her just to talk to her alone
All the stuff packed in his transit for a gig too far away
Pick up Dave and Mike and Jassie, hope she’s not too stoned to play
Learning numbers as they’re driving he can dream of future nights
When they’ll play in front of thousands not to drown-out drunken fights
Making love on Monday mornings life and dreams both put on hold
Nothing’s true except each other and the hopes they haven’t sold
In the evening she’s a dancer in the spotlight and a thong
But at every other moment he’s her singer, she’s his song
Author notes
Dunno
I need to come back and read it again tomorrow I think …
It’s missing something.
English