I can see her cold eyes drift
I can feel her head lift
From a place so low.

A string illusion
For the love she's in has frozen

A night-stick comedy show
Where the stage hands look warm to the touch

A smooth abrasion
From the pin
That held my picture dream in

The nightingale switch has been thrown
And I'm awake now

Don't call me Jupiter,
I've been with her before

With a lily pad complexion
And a Robespierre infection
I roam these teepee halls