I was chatting to a lady,

In a seedy, smelly bar.

When she told me of her worries

That would best be in a jar.

It wasn't chat from alcohol,

acetone her vice;

Filed and painted nails,

Pretend to make her nice.

She described a bad life,

Caring for her dad,

Feeding him and coping,

She seemed so very sad.

She spoke as if I knew her,

Lonely, sad and...

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