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Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Suzanne Vega
Vocals
Jimmy Hogarth
Percussion
Mike Veseglia
Bass
The London Studio Orchestra
Strings
Gerry Leonard
Acoustic Guitar
Will Malone
String Conductor
Pete Davis
Programming
Doug Yowell
Drums
Britt Myers
Performer
Perry Montague-Mason
Strings
Slattery
Piano
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Suzanne Vega
Composer
Will Malone
String Arranger
Britt Myers
Co-Arranger
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Jimmy Hogarth
Producer
Tchad Blake
Mixing Engineer
Cameron Craig
Recording Engineer
Britt Myers
Additional Engineer
Bob Ludwig
Mastering Engineer
Lyrics
She's a pornographer's dream, he said.
I knew what he meant.
But it made me imagine: what kind of a dream
He would have, that hadn't been spent?
Would he still dream of the thigh? of the flesh upon high?
What he saw so much of?
Wouldn't he dream of the thing that he never
Could quite get the touch of?
It's out of his hands, over his head
Out of his reach, under this real life
Hidden in veils, covered in silk
He's dreaming of what might be
Out of his hands, over his head
Out of his reach, under this real life
Hidden in veils,
He's dreaming of mystery.
Bettie Page is still the rage
With her legs and leather;
She turns to tease the camera, and please us at home,
And we let her.
Who's to know what she'll show of herself,
In what measure?
If what she reveals, or what she conceals,
Is the key to our pleasure?
It's out of our hands, over our heads
Out of our reach, under this real life
Hidden in veils, covered in silk
We're dreaming of what might be
It's out of our hands, over our heads
Out of our reach, under this real life
Hidden in veils
We're dreaming of mystery.
She's a pornographer's dream, he said.
I knew what he meant.
But it made me imagine: what kind of a dream
He would have?
Writer(s): Suzanne Vega
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