It's the singer, not the song

She was classy
They observed
Never turning away
Her stammering fans
Stunned silent by her
Warmth

But they didn't know
The dark empty
She held tight in
Her clenched fists
Its oily surface
Making her lunge
Forward to keep
It from shooting
Out into the crowd
Knocking them awake
With an icy gut
Punch


They heard her wail
But they didn't see
Her whiskey tears
Late at night
In another hotel
Room