Analysis of (mule)

your cold feet writhe in the cool breeze of the wind, your head is down, looking at shadows on the pavement. Your bright dress isn’t fond of the look on your face, glancing at the world around you. the sun interlocks between your fingers and grips tightly, making your skin radiate. you don’t recognize what you have, you don’t take time to see it. so many want you, but you hide behind the curtain.