She is not a real princess.
On the corner of Midnight and Spirit,
shaved arm pits,
smile a bent moon beam,
You could see she was no princess
in the snow white of her eye
when he told her,
"You are a princess."
when he told her,
"Show some thigh.
Flip that frown. Wake up, Beauty,
smell the coffee liqueur.
Half price booze!
We are open 'til four.
Shout it loud! Make me proud.
Show some shoulder. Lose that bra.
Bring our lads in. Fill my bar."
But she doesn't feel like a princess
on the corner of Midnight and Spilled Spirit Staining
fumbling out flyers.
She feels like an iceberg with an American accent,
an origami swan made from unpaid bills
She can't be a princess.
Debt overdrawn by a fat Crayola,
The world doesn't want her skills;
a Crystal Castle made of pasta and glue,
twelve ways to cheat at a Rubix Cube,
making up voices for pencils.
So she works for a bar
in a strapless bra
on the corner of Midnight and Empty.
And seven little men get too close.
Boozy, Schmoozy,Handsy, Shouty,
Licky, Pukey and Punch
"Nice legs. When do they open?"
"D'you like chicken? This cock'll have you chokin'.''
"Don't put out your goods if you're not selling too."
"If you were my daughter, I would still be bathing you."
She knows she is not a princess.
Loyal to her boss, her Prince Harming,
she's faced these little men,
these mice disguised as stallions,
rodents wrapped in beer sticky manes.
"Neigh. Squeak! Neigh."
The customer isn't always bright
but she is.
Brighter than any crown.
Today, she walks away.
She walks away
and their taunts turn to fairy dust,
like shadows clouding into candy floss.
She walks away,
body full of sunrise,
her skin a goose bump farm.
Clear the road!
Rip down the corner of Midnight.
Spirit of Lionheart and twilight.
Wow - Wow - Wow through morning,
Spirit to Swift Wind,
blizzards of light hope quiver in her lungs.
Rubix cube squares flit free at her feet
like Billie Jean!
She might go and invent a rechargable biro.
Might bake the first daffodil pie.
She might become a princess...