When my good friend's hand was on her hips
Poured me another glass of wine
And tried to convince me that on a normal day
Among me and my friend, her body would not lay
And she wouldn't be in this unholy place
Where her beauty was no longer a grace.
My fingers, weary as they are,
Soon met her dripping desire.
She whispered: "My lust, as it's rusted,
Is only for you. With him, I'm disgusted."
I said: "My fair young lady,
Never let your beauty
Lose its grace."
The lady, with a piercing right below her lips
Left without a grace on that lazy afternoon,
And I took a nap.
