The doll people are not men They made of ass and glass Our skin is clay painted blue head can detach We statues with a pulse art you fuck quiet What there to say? Art does interpret itself There day save paintings legs Drink the dolls Legs spread like butter wife whore mistress maid mother Oh beauty buyer take screaming one because A woman who doesn't want it much hotter than that Wife alive! Or so they say You never trust Never these days To be admired takes precedence over admiring desired importance desiring Paint popping off us rockets Stepped right out fantasy words still stuck our pockets gone don't know what happened looked under skirts morning But all saw were maggots bang their on wall fucked afternoon running laughing together Swimming in milk moon