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When a person has too much she can forget what she really needs |
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When you pull the spike from the flesh it is then that the wound will bleed |
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The drawer that I was keeping your letters in |
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It is filling up with hate |
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And then I found you arousing my counterpart |
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It's a most unusual state |
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When a man needs a mate... |
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Be my Mona Lisa, baby, whose smile doesn't |
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Bother me at all |
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Be my Mona Lisa, baby, and hang on my wall |
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Till I get home |
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So I offered up my bedroomness like unreliable advice |
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This you accepted reluctantly, this you accepted twice |
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And remember those platform shoes that you made so you could look me in the eye? |
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By the time you climbed up into them it was |
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All you could do not to cry |
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And still say good-bye... |
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Be my The Last Supper, baby, note that just one man faces the other |
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Be my The Last Supper, baby, raising a toast to the host who has suffered the most |
