The lady peers down upon the Devil’s Coach House
Peeking through the curtain
She watches the troubadours ride blithely in
Chuckling to herself like a chanteuse
She sees centurions in her sin
Dressed in her finest ebony lace and silk
Frightened by your smile
Quickly pulling the drapery over
She chooses to hide a while
She watches as you enter
He is not nobler than she!
She catches yet another glimpse
The crusaders of history
Will she march like Joan of Arc?
Pirouette in the marble arch
Ever venture to her darling’s house
Those lovely servants that you denounce
And see her prince come riding in
At last – she groans, begin!
The ladies in waiting knock on her door
She bequeaths her soul forever more
She chooses her own delight
Each and every single (k)night