Texty: Herman Dune. Martin Donovan In Trust.

may i take a picture of you right now without further ado
while you raise your foot up out your little black skirt
and you slap your tongue like parler posey in flirt
this is not what i'm here for, this is not what i'm here for
there's got to be a lot more, this is not what i'm here for
the taste of sweet coffee when it's raining outside
the surprise of the sunrise when you just went out for a ride
afternoons in the library, peeping about all those poems that i saved that never printed out
that lonely morning on the top of the hill by a lake
i sat and heard nothing but the soubd this lake made
that evening i spent in brooklyn with some arty upper crust
smoking, drinking and swearing like martin donovan in trust
this is not what i'm here for, this is not what i'm here for
there's got to be a lot more, this is not what i'm here for
may i not help you untie and unzip
and just lie, feeling your hair on my hip
your breasts hang so neatly as you bend over
and they brush so gently against each other
but this is not what i'm here for, this is not what i'm here for
there's got to be a lot more, this is not what i'm here for