High in an apartment on lower Manhattan.
Slow forties jazz.
Dimly lit living-room.
A place time seems to have forgotten.
Empty Gin bottle.
Half filled glass.
Shattered dreams.
Scattered shotgun shells.
Tear-stained cheeks.
Trembling hands.
Intoxicated and vexed to the bone.
A beautiful woman. 
Sits all alone.

Pushed. 
Dragged, kicking and screaming, way
beyond the breaking point.
Night after night, week after week.
Lie after stupid fucking lie.
Besieged.
A  wounded creature, no longer able to cry.

You're paranoid honey. 
Gimme a hug.
The calm, reassuring voice from hell.
Working hard, working late again. 
We're only friends.
That was not the story the P.I and the pictures
had to tell.

Mugged, pistol-whipped,
gagged and bound.
Humilated.
Mocked, jeered, spat on and 
left helpless on the ground.
It was early this evening.
His little slut had the nerve to call.
You have the house, the ring and the kids.
The man, the dick and the money, Bitch I
got it all.

High in an apartment on lower Manhattan.
Slow forties jazz.
Dimly lit living-room.
A place time seems to have forgotten.
Empty Gin bottle.
Half filled glass.
Shattered dreams.
Scattered shotgun shells.
Tear-stained cheeks.
Trembling hands.
Intoxicated and vexed to the bone.
A beautiful woman. 
Sits all alone.

Josephine, honey I'm home...

Boom!

Motherfucker...