She loved to wear stillettoes, It made her feel superior, She sells her flesh in ghettos, She screams yet no one hears her. Beauty is tame, vain and skin deep, A plastic tube and needle, helps her to sleep. Her blood is a killer, multiplying, A baby inside herthat's already dying. But the pain of termination stings like bees, For she couldn't bear a scar of sleaze. There'll be no carousels or candy floss, Just a harlot who cries, and a baby that dies, in a burning spoon of Jack frost.