The father son and game show host came to me. On the West Coast and told me I could fly. You don't need jets, you don't need wings. You just need faith in silly things.
You think your're gay, gets in the way. Being in love with your boyfriend. You dump and see blokes, you don't laugh at jokes. Your Anti Christ could be a God send.
She belongs to all, she talks as she undresses. The love that she expresses when nothing can be said. Pennies in a stream, my love songs unrequited. And all the dicks you slighted are at your door.