Sometimes, I wonder what I'm doing here In the middle of this tiny square room Filled with smoke and damp carpet Soggy with spilled cheap champagne With the mirrors and flashing lights And plastic bowls half of salted peanuts In their discarded shells. And this room with tired waitresses Lousy, overpriced drinks
(Chorus) Into the black...
I feel sorry for the men sometimes Mostly I just feel contempt The men with their furtive movements and blank faces
I feel sorry for Stacey Her face looks as though it's been stepped on Though her body is like angel food Almost too beautiful to look at Her boyfriend probably doesn't when he hits her
I feel sorry for Lynne With her expensive lingerie Cheap dime store wigs Trying to hide her identity She's a Yale graduate with a huge loan debt She hooks a little on the side
I feel sorry for Babette With her henna'd Cleopatra hair And large lumnious eyes Her adorable accent of broken english Can't hide her drug habit and predatory nature
Into the black...
Sometimes I wonder what I'm doing here Dancing naked except for a few sequins Lying to men for drink commissions I take their room keys and make promises I know I won't fulfill We're all victims in one way or another We're all here for different reasons
Sometimes I wonder what I'm doing here I like to sleep all day and stay out all night The idea of a straight job is like the idea of a straightjacket I like buying clothes I like taking taxis I'm pretty and intelligent Sarcastic and selfish I'm not going to be doing this forever
Into the black...
And I'm not going to be doing this forever I'm only 18.