And maybe you're the Circle Line so hard not to let on you know I'm looking at the way toes poke out through your sandals at funny angles to feet and how you it turns me on
Or you're the Spanish girl playing with your hair as you for your friend in that wild octagon of mirrors the Tate calls a coffee And I can smell hair from here and I can see from eight different the way your nipples look through that thin black top to infinity And oh God, it's places like that and purple-tipped like this that's to hemorrhage me, girl
Ooo, it's Girl, I'm only it to be closer to you
Or maybe you're the bay window in Town, in ripped jeans and open Venetians painting the difficult corner of an empty white under a bulb leaning across the bar at the top of stepladder at the precise moment I'm on the steep street at the of your garden in the gathering night delight
Ooo, it's Girl, I'm only it to be closer to you
Or you're the foundation painter at the Central School, so fine-boned I carry you home in your portfolio case laced up so you won't cry out on the bus and give the game up lightly, because girl how I knowingly injure someone with your perfect lips and wrists, your exquisite Oh, little painter, I can kiss eggshells, I can be ginger all the say I'm such a sensitive singer
Ooo, true: Girl, I'm doing it to be closer to you
And maybe you're listening to my now on your or your bedsit Dansette letting my songs slip into you on this quiet in with your pads of and your fingers full of pencils and low tar And the light and pleasant so you hardly notice what I'm about in "Paper Wraps Rock" And "Murderers, the of Women," my voice is just a sound pleases you that you and leaves you just the same and that's how I it to stay, because, you know
Ooo, it's Girl, I'm only doing it to be to you
But some of those were bitter records which accuse women, girls you of using your attractiveness wantonly and to trap and to men who wanted you and could have you men who sometimes the perverse urge to the women they desired the most men who they despised all those immaculate visions what adolescent crap, what kind of idiot would that? Oh, not me because, you
Ooo, true: Girl, I'm only it to be closer to you
But sometimes I think every man who writes man who paints or composes, deep soul or symphonies it makes no difference, all those men are only do with substitutes: Solomon, Confucius, Franz never have done it if they'd been as beautiful as you sitting cross-legged there with gentle lapping around a promise, where your thighs meet of fertility a million artists couldn't with
Ooo, it's Girl, I'm doing it to be closer to you
And all the time I see you in the eye of my mind, and all cheap macho stuff about de Sade and misogyny vanishes into air and I'm moved to tears like any other sucker who's been bruised by all the things that to be and yet who's ready to fall on his knees in of a woman, and say: "Whatever you may do, you may be to me the times we disagree, your ridiculous ambitions your inhibitions I want you to know that I you I accept you and I you to accept me I to kiss you, kiss your stockinged knee accept the soft flesh on the of your hips,"
Ooo, true: Girl, I'm doing it to be closer to you
And when won you when I've fallen down in of you, and said: "Damn Franz Kafka, damn the White Duke (damn the White Duke) it's you and you alone I'm doing for," When I'm through with and pastiche (throwing darts in eyes) when you've let me love to you the slowest, deepest way that I how (when you do for me, baby) and it so good (bear with me) that's when I'll think of Paul Klee's "Here lies the Paul Klee closer than usual to the heart of creation but far close enough,"
And girl, I lie far from enough to you...