Black dress and sunglasses
A beacon of the night
The street stands still and shaking like an old silent movie
I'm almost ready to draw the curtain
She smokes, blowing killer's ash in the air. The lights on the block only capture her clear doll face with that relaxed, but cold stare veiled by shades. The shadows are just clear enough to display her curved and sculpted figure that's gotta belong to some sort of statue.
I'm beginning to wonder why there's no men nearby. A girl like that at this time of night is probably some kind of succubus or vampire, with victims drowning to death in ecstasy. You'd expect her to have wings, maybe feathered, or smooth and menacing. That silent shadow-blended woman's shape pulls in on the curiosity of superstition, and still won't let go.
Her hidden eyes
Wherever they are
They're probably staring something down
But she ain't a fighter
But she's already won
If you listened, you can figure out what
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