I was a young man, starving and drinking
And trying, to [bad word] a writer
And I remember that apartment
The smell of mice and dust
And the old woman with the pretty legs
All the kisses that I lost to your neck,
I am a tennis player, playing on both sides of the net
And I, will get you yet,
And I will turn you, I will turn you
Like a tattooed pigskin
And this time you won’t forget my face
Read my lips

sculpture is a sculpture
Marmalade is marmalade
And a sculpture of marmalade is a sculpture
But it isn’t marmalade
She said with you inside me, [bad word] the knowledge of my death
But I still had some oranges left
Underneath the bed

I came to you, I came to depend on you
I came upon you, I came upon your floor
But the god should be left alone
One mustn’t bang upon the door
She said for everything that is visible
There is a copy that is hidden
She said, nothing takes on life
Until it has been eaten
I was working the hole with the sailor
And you wonder you don’t get invited to more parties
Read my lips

sculpture is a sculpture
Marmalade is marmalade
And a sculpture of marmalade is a sculpture
But it isn’t marmalade
She said with you inside me, [bad word] the knowledge of my death
But I still had some oranges left
Underneath the bed