She makes a living by
delivering killer kisses
to men who need it
And using her voluptuous curves
on women who seek it.
She's a siren without the call
You either know where she's at
or get nothing at all.
She stays on the move
in the shadows of the city
She has a face to be under stage lights
But her label doesn't fit it.
Oh, there's something she told me
that she hasn't told anyone else
and she kissed my mouth shut
to be sure I'd never tell,
but I could write a secret
that she keeps her heart
Locked in a diary
And it only beats when she writes
Is that why
I am writing tonight?