Walk past doors that seal in the smell of unfaithfulness;
Cat calls sound down a red velvet hall with embroidered curtains,
Shouts of pleasuring entertainment grow louder with each step;
To heavy-breathed smiles do listen
And see how girls flaunt revealing outfits.
Soft, cushioned chairs that bear flowing threaded ribbons of gold
Seat men with pockets stuffed full with small bills,
Providing luxurious views of dances so libidinous,
Allowing the patrons their dirty thrills.
A different theme every night gives regular visitors pleasurable stays,
Their intent to see the beautifully lewd Ruby of the brothel;
Her eyes hold the fire that burns on the stage,
Her voice and body liquid diamonds that keep the devilish palace filled.
Her master whipping her into her submissive state,
His voice booming loud and insisting that she is
Worthy of nothing but the filthy money which she is paid
To please men and women who grip it in their sweaty grasps.
Each new night, one lit by red lighting especially for her,
Her tears flow as she rises upon her stage, her home,
And yet she hides them behind suggestive dances and looks,
Her eyes now void of everything other than shame.
They shout her title,
They demand her appearance,
The ruby of the brothel,
Is once again under the order of the lust obsessed patron.
