Five am in the Red Light District

you're just a hypothesis
my muddled antithesis
a punctual perception of peace
you prey on my sympathy
my nature and empathy
like a conservative caught on her knees
now i'm hung on the ratio
of love to fellatio
but your patrons seem perfectly pleased
with the ways you appease them
touch them and tease them
you're sure that somebody sees
and, love, your autobiography
reads more like pornography
and you don't deny your disease
but your life isn't harder
and i'm not a martyr
now you're probably perfectly pleased