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Babelogue

I haven't fucked much with the past

But I've fucked plenty with the future

Over the skin of silk are scars

From the splinters of stations and walls I've caressedA stage is like each bolt of wood

Like a, like a log of Helen, is my pleasure

I would measure the success of a night by the way, by the way I

By the amount of piss and seed I could exude

Over the columns that nestled the P.A.Some nights I'd surprise everybody by skipping off

With a skirt of green net sewed over

With flat metallic circles which dazzled and flashed

The lights were violet and [Incomprehensible] white

I had an ornamental veil, I can't bear to use itWith the way my hair was cropped, I craved, craved covering

But now that my hair itself is a veil

And the scalp inside is a scalp of a crazy

And a sleepy Comanche lies beneath this netting of skinI wake up, I am lying peacefully

I am lying peacefully and my knees are open to the sun

I desire him and he is absolutely ready to seize me

In, in, in, in, in heart, I am a Moslem, in heart, I am an American

In heart, I am Moslem, in heart, I'm an American artist and I have no guiltI seek pleasure, I seek the nerves under your skin

The narrow archway, the layers, the scroll of ancient lettuce

We worship the flaw, the belly, the belly

The mole on the belly of an exquisite whore

He spared the child and spoiled the rod

I have not sold myself to God

Songwriters

Ivan Kral;Patricia SmithPublished by

DRUSE MUSIC INC. Song Discussions is protected by U.S. Patent 9401941. Other patents pending.

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