Ooh you wear your he-harem hat and a lace bib that zips up the back To

be an

'N' on a leash of men an endless spool of fools lick of patchwork in

your new

suit. See the stone moths that sweep up And your suitcase ful of new

clothes

Made of manskins and the souls that pop out. Ooh you wear your he-harem

coat

and a real dick boa wrapped around your throat To be an 'X' in sexless

equation

bead on a spool of jewels cold backup for your crown, Queen. There's a

suitcase

ful of old robes And the seamster is a stone moth made of real hearts

and the

souls you done stole. Ooh you wear your he-harem dress and fake lashes

lap up

the mess that grows like breath within your wake coin-toss a glance back

at the

road of men you paved, dear.