She's on a beach in Maui her breasts are half uncovered

I try to stop myself from staring at her butt I'm drawn like Dagwood to sleep

The lawn may need mowing but still I can't prevent my thoughts

From becoming obscene so I justify, she's only a page in a magazine

She's not real, she doesn't feel.

Eyes pierce her scraps of cloth.

Her value is lost



Crown of all creation, bane of jealous angels

She's nothing more to me than food for a fantasy

And though I know it's a shame, I won't turn away

My thoughts are so casually lead astray

And I know it's not right it feels so unclean

but she's just a page in a magazine

She's not real, she doesn't feel.

Eyes pierce her scraps of cloth. Her value is lost

49er, gold prospector.

Her body is my claim

As she assumes some cheesy pose, imagination see's no close

And I don't even know her name

Her body breaks my minds leash like Gus broke his chain