Pornographer's dream
"She's a pornographer's dream", he saidI knew what he meantBut it made me imagineWhat kind of a dream he would haveThat hadn't been spent
Would he still dream of the thighThe flesh upon high what he saw so much of?Wouldn't he dream of the thing that he neverCould quite get the touch of?
It's out of his hands, over his headOut of his reach, under this real lifeHidden in veils, covered in silkDreaming of what might be
It's out of his hands, over his headOut of his reach, under this real lifeHidden in veils, dreaming of mystery
Bettie Page is still the rageWith her legs and leatherShe turns to tease the cameraAnd please us at home and we let her
Who's to know what she'll showOf herself, in what measureIf what she reveals or what she concealsIs the key to our pleasure
It's out of our hands, over our headsOut of our reach, under this real lifeHidden in veils, covered in silkDreaming of what might be
It's out of our hands, over our headsOut of our reach, under this real lifeHidden in veils, dreaming of mystery
Under this real lifeDreaming of what might beUnder this real lifeDreaming of mystery
"She's a pornographer's dream", he saidI knew what he meantAnd it made me imagineWhat kind of a dream he would have