Dust In Your Pocket

One young fawn, in a maze Eager eyed in the milky haze Scampers round, heavy feet Spindly legs and knobbly knees Twitching tail and tongue-in-cheek She munches fruit from harlot trees Looking smug and fresh and pleased She wanders so sloppily and eats She puts her hands up to the sky She puts her hands up and she's icing her lie She puts her hands up to the sky It makes her well up, it makes her well up She puts her hands up to the sky She puts her hands up and she's icing her lie She puts her hands up to the sky It makes her well up, it makes her well up She feels a lick, down her nape It looks up with a fair glass face The peeling palms of dirty hands Jointed thumbs with drumstick ends Yellow nails from pinching fags A slimy creature lacking clad He pulls his fingers from her mind And lets her see, just like she was blind She puts her hands up to the sky She puts her hands up and she's icing her lie She puts her hands up to the sky It makes her well up, it makes her well up She puts her hands up to the sky She puts her hands up and she's icing her lie She puts her hands up to the sky It makes her well up, it makes her well up