Carol Ann Duffy - Salome lyrics

I'd done it before (and doubtless I'll do it again, sooner or later) woke up with a head on the pillow beside me – whose? – what did it matter? Good-looking, of course, dark hair, rather matted; the reddish beard several shades lighter; with very deep lines around the eyes, from pain, I'd guess, maybe laughter; and a beautiful crimson mouth that obviously knew how to flatter… which I kissed… Colder than pewter. Strange. What was his name? Peter? Simon? Andrew? John? I knew I'd feel better for tea, dry toast, no bu*ter, so rang for the maid. And, indeed, her innocent clatter of cups and plates, her clearing of clutter, her regional patter, were just what I needed – hungover and wrecked as I was from a night on the batter. Never again! I needed to clean up my act, get fitter, cut out the booze and the f*gs and the s**. Yes. And as for the latter, it was time to turf out the blighter, the beater or biter, who'd come like a lamb to the slaughter to Salome's bed. In the mirror, I saw my eyes glitter. I flung back the sticky red sheets, and there, like I said – and ain't life a b**h – was his head on a platter.