Southpaw Jones

From the excellent CD Bedroom Demos Vol. 1: Zero Demand.

You’ve got beautiful muscles and a big wholesome heart
Your ribs start together and then drift apart
There’s black in your lung from the smoke of your youth
And some minor decay in your #12 tooth

But I long to look at your skin, your skin
I’m tired of worshipping what’s within
For once I could act like those shallow ass guys
Who stare at your chest, not straight through your eyes

I couldn’t describe the shade of your hair
As well as the shapes in the building back there
The man in that high rise is about to disrobe
So I return my attention to your frontal lobe

But I long to look at your flesh
I’m bored with watching your nerve endings mesh
I’d rather be dealing with your blemished face
Than to know all the routes that your blood vessels trace.

I’ve got x-ray vision and I’ve got no control
I’d rather see wrinkles than another lost soul
And I’d rather see you comin’ through the hole in my door
Than to look down in sadness at the earth’s molten core

There’s a bone in your fried fish
I’d leave that bite there.