There’s a woman who thinks she can

Have a wet dream about a vague man

She's ghost-boned with an ear to the floor

She hears whispers from the room below

But you can’t have a wet dream over vague men

There’s a baby crying for a mother

There’s an old man screaming out for another

Another daydream of times gone by

Another nightmare of a long goodbye

Her death-chant of summer is the smell of sour milk

She listens to the language Goddess, lets her words wrap like silk

Small moments of solitude, incubating meat

Masturbating apparatus normally works a treat

But you can’t have a wet dream over vague men

There’s a serpent selling secrets to the Ministry of Defence

But the stories he tells don’t make any sense

We’re growing flowers by candle light in hotel rooms

In our daydreams we watch as the Belladonna blooms

But when you're ghost-boned

You can’t have a wet dream over vague men