Now I'm of consenting age, to be forgetting you in a cabaret
somewhere downtown where a burlesque queen may even ask my name.
As she sheds her skin on stage,
i'm seated and sweating to a dance song on the clubs PA.
And the strip joint veteran sits two away,
smirking between dignified sips of his dignified peach and lime daiquri...
Isn't this precisely.where.you'd.like.me.
You know, Praying for love in a lap dance and paying in naivety?
But I'm afraid that I, well may have faked.
I wouldn't be caught dead in this place.

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