Beautiful was the whore of Closingtown, beautiful. Black-haired was the whore of Closingtown, black-haired. There were dozens of books in her room, on the second floor of the saloon, and she read them when she was waiting, stories with a beginning and an end, if you ask her she’ll tell you the stories. Young was the whore of Closingtown, young. Holding you between her legs she whispers: my love.