She's lovely. She's lonely.
She's waiting for something to come.
Waiting in the dark, waiting in the suburbs.
Waiting for a chance, for a helping hand.
Another street, another corner.
Another woman, another man.
She's walking through the monsters of the night.
Waiting, longing for the morning light.
She's lovely. She's lonely.
Standing on her feet, making love with the burning sun.
Trying to forget she's lonely.
The heart under the dress whispers hard.

M. L. Bing