Molehills

These are not my hands
This is not my open mouth
I watch me play my part with feeling, fire and heart
I know these lines so well
But these are not my words
And you are not my valentine
I chitchat, flirt and smile, deceived by my own guile
Bewitched by my own spell

Beware the modest mole, with his big, friendly jazz hands
His black fur, made for fondling and small, kind eyes
He hides violence in his smile and venom in his kiss

These are not my friends
This is not my family
I play along to please, I fight away the freeze
I swallow back my yell
I watch me play my part with feeling, fire and heart
I know these lines so well

These are not my ears that hear you
These are not my kissing lips
And these are not my arms that hold you
These are not my breasts, my hips
And these are not my eyes that smile
And these are not my legs that part
This is not my voice that calls you
This is not my head, my heart

The common mole lives in a tunnel system which it constantly extends
Within these dark burrows he hunts
Using his toxic bite to paralyze his prey
So that his meal can be stored alive and eaten later