Shes on a beach in Maui her breasts are half uncovered
I try to stop myself from staring at her butt
Im drawn like Dagwood to sleep
The lawn may need mowing but still I cant prevent my thoughts
From becoming obscene so I justify,
shes only a page in a magazine
Shes not real, she doesnt feel.
Eyes pierce her scraps of cloth.
Her value is lost
Crown of all creation, bane of jealous angels
Shes nothing more to me than food for a fantasy
And though I know its a shame, I wont turn away
My thoughts are so casually lead astray
And I know its not right it feels so unclean
but shes just a page in a magazine
Shes not real, she doesnt feel.
Eyes pierce her scraps of cloth. Her value is lost
49er, gold prospector.
Her body is my claim
As she assumes some cheesy pose, imagination sees no close
And I dont even know her name
Her body breaks my minds leash like Gus broke his chain
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