this is not a love song

this is not a love song

you know me
I’m an escort girl
and my heels prick the ice
like spikes

my brain is to amuse you
my mouth is to praise you
my sensuality keeps you warm
my sirens song whispers the way
and my heavenly scent
releases you
in your endless days
but once a year
after the petals have wilted
and before the first snow starts falling
my voice raises into a gruesome howl
a song in a choir of grief that has to be made

sung from all my global mates
for all the victims
fallen and wounded in the battle of life
for their families and friends
on the 17th of december
We throw our fist in the air
from hands that always care
which stroke fluffy balls and weary heroes
by hands at arms to embrace
not made to held candles
We reaching out to the lost
extend the hands to their souls
our fragile voices reach the sky
to commemorate those
who met their fate
which is not a really one at all
violence, stigma and murder
purely made by man
and their accomplices jurisdiction
and a brutal legislation
because „they“ disgrace the name of justice
not my mates

who lost their lives
in pursuit to bring happiness and adult fun
pure entertainment without obligation
by a service made with commitment and love
why this aversion and aggression against „us“?
what have we done?