"There is no place to turn," she said,
"You have me pinned so close;
My hair's all tangled on your head,
My back is just one bruise;
I feel we're breathing with the dead;
O angel, let me loose!"
And she was right, for there beside
The gin and cigarettes
A woman stood, pure as a bride
Affrighted from her wits
And breathing hard, as that man rode
Between those lovely tits.
"My shoulder's bitten from your teeth;
What's that peculiar smell?
No matter which one is beneath
Each is an animal,"-
The ghostly figure sucked its breath,
And shuddered toward the wall;
Wrapped in the tattered robe of death,
It tiptoed down the hall.
"The bed itself begins to quake,
I hate this sensual pen;
My neck, if not my heart, will break
If we do this again,"-
Then each fell back, limp as a sack
Into the world of men.