| Judy lights a cigarette, I walk her to my walk-up flat
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| With Repetto shoes, a chocolate hat
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| She looks like Marie Antoinette
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| Her tailor is an astronaut
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| And when she smiles I really ought
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| To tell her what I really thought
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| About her photograph
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| Judy’s laugh is like a rasp
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| Judy’s lips are bold as brass
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| Judy says she’s working class
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| Maybe through the looking glass
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| Blows a kiss, picks up a glass
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| Fills it from a secret flask
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| Slings it back and shyly asks
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| If she can take a bath
|
| And I wonder why does sex
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| Always make me think of death?
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| Does it matter, I say no
|
| There’s a thousand ways to come but only one to go
|
| The sex is good, we speak of Yeats
|
| His lucky loves, byzantine hates
|
| And how before the pearly gates
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| He made St Peter sit and wait
|
| While he made ready to create
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| Like some plenipotentate
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| Releasing fluids from his brain
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| Judy says she feels the same
|
| A silence settles on the flowers
|
| We are living golden hours
|
| Like the carp that emperors
|
| Keep to feel superior
|
| And I wonder why does sex
|
| Always make me think of death?
|
| Does it matter, I say no
|
| There’s a thousand ways to come but only one to go
|
| Look within, the end begins
|
| Only when beginning ends
|
| Judy says, and smiles, and bends
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| And when she bends beneath her dress
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| Suddenly I see her breasts
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| It makes me stop and catch my breath
|
| And I wonder why does sex
|
| Always make me think of death?
|
| The sex is good, we speak of Yeats
|
| His lucky loves, byzantine hates
|
| And how, before the pearly gates
|
| He made St Peter sit and wait
|
| And I wonder why does sex
|
| Always make me think of death?
|
| Does it matter, I say no
|
| Cos there’s a thousand ways to come but only one to go |