Traffic

Lured by lies to a life of shame
On promises of jobs, men of wealth
Awaiting exotic love

London landing
The streets paved with grief
The gates of misery open

Herded, beaten, abused
Used for five-minute fucks
Shunt, grunt, come, go

Next one, on and on
No respite, arm-spiked junk
Keeps them dependent

Damaged goods, sold on
To someone less particular
Junkie whores soulless now

Blank eyes despise the world
Hurled abuse bounces off
Only the pain speaks now

Men prey, they pray
God send the day
That I die

Splitting wood, crashing doors
Terrify whores
Armed police! Freeze!

Can’t comprehend it’s at an end
Helping hand bemuses
Confuses, the lucky ones live

How many whores
Are buried on the moors
How many daughters were slaughtered