| They say the eyes are the windows of the soul
|
| but I love all the little dark holes
|
| in your BODY BAG.
|
| Your little willie, he’s oh, so pretty,
|
| and those titties, and those titties
|
| in the BODY BAG.
|
| Nobody knows you and nobody wants to.
|
| Willie’s poised to dive into flesh,
|
| something tells me he will leave a mess
|
| in the BODY BAG.
|
| When we kiss my eyes are closed,
|
| my lips are full, I breathe through my nose
|
| in the BODY BAG.
|
| Nobody knows you and nobody wants to.
|
| See the children play in the mud,
|
| moulding balls of faces and blood
|
| from the BODY BAG.
|
| All praise for corporal flesh;
|
| the smell of love, the smell of death
|
| from the BODY BAG.
|
| Is it a womb or is it a tomb?
|
| A sac of water that’s quiet and warm,
|
| a complex shape’s beginning to form,
|
| on marble slabs you’re flat on your back,
|
| all colours fall into the basic black
|
| of the BODY BAG.
|
| The creatures of earth are countless and strange,
|
| open your lips and tell me the name
|
| of your BODY BAG.
|
| All praise for corporal flesh. |