Body lines, Different designs: Cross-dress, It's all a damn mess. Right is left, Left is right, The future Is not in sight. Round and round Goes the sound As it all comes unwound, At least that's the dream I found In the two thousand sixteen mound Of anything goes In the utopian land Of the profane — And profound.
When I look upon her, What should I see? A woman, a lady, Or a two-bit sex machine? You know,