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She sits in the old age centre with lipstick on wrong, Bragging through the tea room like she’s still young and strong. Four dead marriages and a list she keeps proud, She names every lover when she talks too loud. Four rings, dirty sheets, and a heart gone black, She took her revenge and never looked back. He cheated once, so she made men pay, Then called it survival as they walked away. She learned betrayal in a rented room, Then carried that poison like cheap perfume. Good men came close with honest hands, But she broke them down to settle old plans. Four rings, dirty sheets, and a heart gone black, She took her revenge and never looked back. He cheated once, so she made men pay, Then called it survival as they walked away. She loved the attention, the whispers, the sin, The knock at the door and the trouble walking in. Even near eighty, she still chased the flame, With no guilt in her mouth and no shame in her name. Now her room smells of talc, old wine, and regret, But she smiles at the ruin she refuses to forget. She talks like a queen from a gutter-made throne, Still proud of the wreckage she made on her own.
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