Am F
she's a pornographer's dream, he said.
F
I knew what he meant.
C
but it made me imagine: what kind of a dream
Am
he would have, that hadn't been spent?
Am
would he still dream of the thigh? of the flesh upon high?
F
what he saw so much of?
E
wouldn't he dream of the thing that he never
Am
could quite get the touch of?
F G
it's out of his hands, over his head
A
out of his reach, under this real life
F G
hidden in veils, covered in silk
A
he's dreaming of what might be
F G
out of his hands, over his head
A
out of his reach, under this real life
F G
hidden in veils,
A
he's dreaming of mystery.
Am
Bettie Page is still the rage
F
with her legs and leather;
E Am
she turns to tease the camera, and please us at home,
and we let her.
Am F
who's to know what she'll show of herself,
F
in what measure?
E
if what she reveals, or what she conceals,
Am
is the key to our pleasure?
F G
it's out of his hands, over his head
A
out of his reach, under this real life
F G
hidden in veils, covered in silk
A
he's dreaming of what might be
F G
out of his hands, over his head
A
out of his reach, under this real life
F G
hidden in veils,
A
he's dreaming of mystery.
Am F
she's a pornographer's dream, he said.
F
I knew what he meant.
C
but it made me imagine: what kind of a dream
Am
he would have?
