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, lichen-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