I don't care for tights, she says
and does not tell me why
She hikes her skirt above her knee
revealing one brown thigh
I see, I say, and wonder at
her slender little fingers
How cleverly they pull upon
the threads of recent slumbers
[01:27.64
[01:31.29
It's between the binding of
her stockings and her skin.
She stayed up so late I thought
she'd ask me to go dance
But something in the way she laughed
told me I had no chance
The fiction in her family
was that she was never nice
I'd say she was very
I just did not see the price
When the gin and tonic
makes the room begin to spin.
There may be attraction here
but it will never flower
So I'm assigned to read her mind, now
in this witching hour
Here's no game for those who claim
to be easily bruised
But how can I complain
when she's so easily amused?
When she does not show you
the way out on the way in
It's between the binding
of her stockings and her skin.