A monk with a hard-on And a lavender robe That scratches his thighs Through the hat that he strode As he follows a path Filled with every desire And mimics his footsteps And sets his prayers on fire.
Well I too have chosen That which left no choice To sing without loving, A solitary voice, To observe with passion Each careful denial: The protrusions which give my life meaning For a while.
Sometimes I see you in berries and weeds You're brushing your teeth with liquorice seeds Standing too close, Pulling your clothes, Smiling at god And the meaning of life grows.
No and I'll never tell And I'll never know What candles you light After the show And I'll never tell, And I'll never ask The meaning of life after mass.
Printer Friendly Version