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