When I write tender words on midnight’s page Or intercept a smile from Youth to Age Venus you’re making putty of my brain. When I pluck yellow petals from a stem When I post crazy texts at four A.M. Venus you’re making putty of my brain. When I spend hours composing billets doux When I think every girl I see is you Venus you’re making putty of my brain. ‘Folle à la messe est molle à la fesse’ it’s plain That you’re from Mars, and not from St. Germain So when I send you postcards from ‘Craig Raine’ Don’t put it down to Es or crack cocaine. Venus you’re making putty of my brain. by Tom Mathews |
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