Raised by a gazelle
Living in a desert
Haunted by the bells
Of my youth

Standing on the strand
When the weather's pleasant
Crying on demand
Is not the blues

You're my Lazarillo
You're my guide
Your head upon my pillow
Your love still takes the blinding light out of my days
And brightens up the night

Suicide just bores me
She wants her noose back
Curiosity's horny
She wants to fuck a new fact

Spanish trade
Things I remember
Things I've heard said
Something you whispered to me once
When we were in bed
Things from a past
That was pucked and persuaded
And mostly a figment of a vivid imagination

Sweet
Sweet at the news I just heard outside
That another shit head rich man was duped out of his wealth by a conniving young bride