Dance Of The Cobra

Come away, my friend, come away.

The one you seek is a seductress.

He who lays eyes on her is swayed by her charms.

She smiles, and he is enslaved by her beauty.

She winks, and he is hooked.

The fish had taken the bait. Time to reel it in.

Come away, my friend, come away.

The one you seek is a temptress.

She lures victims the way sirens lure sailors towards the rocks,

Towards a watery end.

They see the rocks, but the sirens are too alluring,

Their appearances too seductive,

The promise of paradise and soft flesh too strong to resist

Unlike the hardness of the jagged rocks which are unforgiving

As both sailor and ship soon find out.

Come away, my friend, come away.

The one you seek is a sorceress.

He who gazes upon her is hypnotized by her charming ways.

She smiles, and he is enchanted.

She winks, and he is mesmerized.

The prized calf has been lassoed. Prepare the cooking pots.

Florence Nightingale In Glittery Robes

Your glamorized brand of charity work is too sugar-coated for my taste buds. It reeks of pomposity. Is the left hand supposed to know what the right hand does, or vice versa? Yet you shout it from the rooftops that the whole world might know of your so-called charitable works, for it makes you look good on your resume, as well as on the front cover of People magazine. That's all you care about, how good it makes you look in the eyes of society, judging from your growing photo collection whose central figure is a glamorized-looking you. 

This is what bored Millionaires' Club wives do to pass time and look good at the same time. Congratulations, and welcome to the club.