Make me of clay, make me of steel,

But whatever you do don't try and make me real.

Make me your dream, a secretive deal,

But don't ever scheme to try and make me real.

Stop trying to make me real;
I haven't got the kind of heart a lover can steal.
Stop crying, I just can't feel
Any sympathy for someone trying to make me real.

Make me of shit in a two-teenier deal;
Make me of pornography—a pedophile wheel
Whatever I do, whatever I feel,
By your double standard I will never be real.

Stop trying to make me real;
I haven't got the kind of heart a lover can steal.
Stop crying, I just can't feel
Any sympathy for someone trying to make me real.

Why can't you settle for a fantasy?
You're so convinced that I'm the man to see.
I can't live up to
What you give up to
I fail to see the perfect man in me.

Make me from your magazine a listed ideal;
Dress me in the doll's house your knickers conceal.
Make me your brother-lover beau-ideal,
But you will soon discover lover can't be real.

Stop trying to make me real;
I haven't got the kind of heart a lover can steal.
Stop crying, I just can't feel
Any sympathy for someone trying to make me real.

Pete Townshend, Darrell, my husband, Sean Connery. It's really quite a short list.

And here's Jane Bond, from "I Made Love to a Communist":

Personally, however, I prefer Cubans. They seem so—well—experienced.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 08:43 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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