six hours at the pier

summer in the city
means cleavage! cleavage! cleavage!
and i start to miss you,
baby,
sometimes.
i’ve been staying up and drinking
in a late night establishment
telling strangers
personal things.
summer in the city,
i’m lonely! lonely! lonely!
i went to a protest
just to rub up against
strangers
and I did feel like
coming
but I also felt like
crying.
and it doesn’t seem so worth it right now.
and the castrated ones
stand in the corner
smoking.
they want to feel
the bulges
in their pants start to rise.
at the site of a beautiful woman
they feel nothing but
anger,
her skin makes them
sick
in the night…
nauseous…
summer in the city,
i’m so lonely! lonely! lonely!
i’ve been hallucinating you,
babe,
at the backs of other women.
and I tap them on the shoulder
and they turn around
smiling
but there’s no recognition
in their eyes.
summer in the city
means cleavage! cleavage! cleavage!
and don’t get me wrong,
dear,
in general
i’m doing quite fine.
it’s just when it’s summer in the city,
and you’re so long gone
from the city
i start to miss you,
baby,
sometimes.
when it’s summer in the city,
and you’re so long gone
from the city
i start to miss you,
baby,
sometimes…