Femme Fatale

Smokey eyes and messed-up mascara
Rouge lips and a fake smile
You\'re in a sinfully tight black dress, sitting at the bar.

Back turned, head down you\'re nursing a glass of whiskey
In between your fingers a cigarette, long forgotten,
Its smoke enveloping your face.

I found you, my personal downfall...
my very own Femme fatale.

The eyes and lips that consume me with one precise move
I am forlorn and then I realise I can never have you.

You are miles away
Your melancholy and pain speak to me
All I want to do is run after you
I am too late.