The backroom card game under smoky mobiles

The lift attendent who's been riding for miles

Safari season is upon us once more

The lion's share to the man by the door



She twists her body like a broken bird

And staggers to the lift without a single word



Her taking leave of the spinning room

Leaves rain unwatched under eyeing moon

In third floor peace dwelling on he fate

She dents the side of the bed with her sparrow weight



She twists her body like a broken bird

And cranes her neck down slowly to the water



As luck would have it she desired that man

So she threw away hearts to weaken her hand

The winner in a grey suit fills the frame

Unaware that she's still playing her game



She twists her body like a broken bird

As waves roll up the shore and break softly