What's a woman going to do
But throw away her bread;
Her feet are feeling funny
As she lies beneath the bed;
She reminisces of the pungent Adriatic Sea,
And then she crawls and counts her cans
And twitches like a flea.

What she really likes to do
Is sit upon a pew,
And make believe that time has stopped
And motionless is new;
Planes are stranded in the sky
And drains are stopping, too,
And she alone is laughing under
Eyelids full of flu.
She scurries hurries worries that
The wicked will receive
Their candy from a handsome man
And coffee from a thief;
She gazes at a hourglass and
Asks it if it cares,
And then she wonders if the lizard
Likes his lettuce rare:

"Lizard, yes a lizard, little lizard of the sea,
Conspicuously alcoholic, flicks his tongue at me!
Release me lizard! Licking lizard,
blizzard of the bea,
Mushed inside a sock you still
dare me --- to die
Dare me to die --- at home..."

"Coating all my lungs with honey,
Sticky [bad [bad word] 
Feet of lizard fly!
And stop and fly and stop and fly
And flicker tongue is licking out
To find me --- feel me. Hide!
Hide from the tongue!
The tongue [bad word] #33; [bad word] #33; Oozing!
Over land and under ashes,
In the sunlight, see -- it flashes,
Find a fly and eat his eye,
But don't believe in me.
Don't believe in me.
Don't believe in me."