She came to the city.
The scent of the countryside all around her and all within her still.
She was out of the convent school now
And away from the grip of her parents
And the shadows of the large dark and purple mountains.
The sun was shining in the city
And she found that little room at the top of the stairs
And she polished the floor and put down a soft carpet
With patterns and scented flowers upon it.
She had golden curtains and the sun shone through,
The bed was comfortable and girlie,
She covered it in satin
And then the phone began to ring . . .
It was this man and that man,
Some were harsh, some were sad,
Some told a story,
You don't have to tell me any story, she told them,
Just take what you need,
I believe in free love . . .
They came and they went.
Some wanted to stay forever,
Some for just one night.
And she struggled to keep the room looking tidy and bright,
Continued with the polishing and the cleaning,
Straightening out the bed.
And she walked the streets in the morning,
Bare foot and restless,
Not understanding the traffic or the language of the city's pulse.
Consumed with the giving and the taking,
Not really feeling anything very much - any more.
She saw her reflection in the store window,
Her hair all tangled,
Her eyes swollen and tearful
With a city pallor around her face.
She looked afraid,
She was too troubled to make that phone call back to her parents,
Too troubled to ask for help.
Too used up
With free love . . .