Pornographer's Dream

"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? 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

Dreaming of what might be

Out of his hands, over his head

Out of his reach, under this real life

Hidden in veils

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

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

Dreaming of mystery

Under this real life

Dreaming of what might be

Under this real life

Dreaming of mystery

"She's a pornographer's dream" He said

I knew what he meant

And it made me imagine, what kind of a dream

He would have?