The waitress cloaks the silverware
At the end of the evening,
Wen the music has finished,
And the dance has begun.
Chosen partner or ill fated stranger,
The eyes never reveal
What lies behind the smile,
In the unfathomed depths of your soul.
My fucking what?
No such bloody thing.
At the end of the evening.

		- Fáinne Fílí CRA