Dirty Beats Under a Cracked Sky

She carries a bag full of whispers, all torn. All torn.

Dusty streets where the daylight's worn. Daylight's worn. Every step's a rattle,

every breath a sigh. Those counted sins under this cracked sky.

Bags of whores, dirty beats on the floor. Hearts for sale but who's keeping

score? Turn it up, turn it loud, drown the core. Bags of whores.

Yeah. Bags of whores. Neon signs drip like honey,

so sweet. So sweet. Broken promises tangled in the beat.

Her heels strike the pavement like a ticking clock. A rhythm so filthy it shatters