Warm summer sunrise. Her eyes met his. Love at first sight.
Not what it seems. Love blossoms but ends in suicide.
His charm works like a spell. Disarmed, she follows to a cell.
"O brawling love, O loving hate."
A rough kiss. She doesn't want this. But in this place there's no escape.
Our tragedy continues with a beating and a rape.
"Is this heaven or is it hell? I'm drowning in these sheets."
She thinks, "Under loves heavy burden do I sink."
He sells her all night to man after man. Locks the door. Hides the key.
"Do you love me?" He says, "Yes," but his actions speak differently.
She's stripped of love. They buy her cheap. He lies, pockets the dime.
Action is the only thing that speaks in situations like these.
You take so much but get so little.
"Never was a story of more woe than that of Juliet and her Romeo."
He takes her downtown. Buys her a red dress.
Branded. Walks the boulevard. Stranded. Mascara's all a mess.
There's no escape, except in her dreams, so often she relives the horror in her sleep.
Business is good. Sex sells. Supply is cheap. Demand is high.
And justice is blind, scared, careless, or a lie.
While these buyers and sellers live in a fool's paradise
A single suicide. A true tragedy.
Not how the story goes. Romeo watches with apathy.
"These violent delights have violent ends.
These violent delights have such violent ends."
Hello? Can you hear me? My actions speak differently.
I'm sorry. Really. You're worth more than sex and money.
I am no fool. I know that means nothing to you.
My inactivity screams my words are untrue.