Lucille's Midnight Cabaret

We open on Lucille, a trollop so twisted
She weeps on the inside so no one can listen
She's haunted by the ghost of a desolate past
And longs for a white picket fence with green grass

She used to believe in bohemian beauty
But now she's a victim of mischevious duty
The poor young girl shreds on the ivory
With a voice that soars on the wings of sweet melody

Drink up, boys, while she sings you a tune
It's almost last call, we'll all be home soon

This room is filled with drunken audacity
With rips in her dress, she can't hide the fact that she's selling herself short
And every day she remembers the day that she took down her baby and gave it away to the river bed

Drink up, boys, while she sings you a tune
It's almost last call, so let's have a little dance!

I want to live on the edge of the world so no one can bother me