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Darling don't you know after I've bathed with you,
I'm going to bury my face in the towel you used.
I'm going to fill a bottle with the tears you weep,
I'm going to brush your teeth whilst your asleep.
Why don't you twist with me, it must be a temptation.
And pity my poor heart I'm a writer of erotic fiction.
Those pictures they used were not really you,
they gave you airbrushed limbs that were stretched too far apart.
Honey, have you got a real heart.
Just buck like a dog on heat, Christ what a sensation!
And pity my poor soul I'm a writer of erotic fiction.
My amorous breath will be filling up your lungs

whilst the crooks in the suburbs will be fornicating milkmaids,
When I start tearing off those sexy clothes,
I will howl out your name and I will rattle those bones.
Those sequinned second seconds are not what I need.
I just want to fuck until I bleed.
But how long will that be.
Just kiss me full on the lips.
Just kiss me full on the lips.

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