| Sleep on and dream of Love
|
| because it’s the closest you will get to love
|
| poor twisted child
|
| so ugly, so ugly
|
| poor twisted child
|
| oh hug me, oh hug me one November
|
| spawned a monster
|
| in the shape of this child
|
| who later cried
|
| But Jesus made me, so Jesus save me from
|
| pity, sympathy
|
| and people discussing me a frame of useless limbs
|
| what can make GOOD
|
| all the BAD that’s been done?
|
| And if the lights were out
|
| could you even bear
|
| to kiss her full on the mouth
|
| (or anywhere?)
|
| poor twisted child
|
| so ugly, so ugly
|
| poor twisted child
|
| oh hug me, oh hug me one November
|
| spawned a monster
|
| in the shape of this child
|
| who must remain
|
| a hostage to kindess
|
| and the wheels underneath her
|
| a hostage to kindess
|
| and the wheels underneath her
|
| a symbol of where mad, mad lovers
|
| must PAUSE and draw the line
|
| So sleep and dream of love
|
| because it’s the closest
|
| you will get to love
|
| that November
|
| is a time
|
| which I must
|
| put OUT of my mind
|
| oh one fine day
|
| LET IT BE SOON
|
| she won’t be rich or beautiful
|
| but she’ll be walking your streets
|
| in the clothes that she went out
|
| and chose for herself |