I tasted the flesh of your pretty mask
Like devil’s lust on a lonesome dusk
it was disgust disguised
it was disgust disguised
And truly it lied – to
Tired travellers tongue-tied
By the kohl of your eyes
Smudged like scribbled skies
You were a railway rose
One might suppose
One might suppose
We couldn’t expect you to appear meek
Whilst the nuns kissed vice on the cheek
You tried on sweetness and sleaze
But neither quite fit
Because this you’ll admit
You’ve only been kissed by the breeze
On matchstick streets
Dressed in deceit
You broke your step waiting for haste
and sullied your silk for a poorer taste
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