Laughing bright eyed in the grass   I smelled your scent as your body passed   dreading Monday at Sunday noon   you''ll be returning here none too soon      The touch of a supple woman   The love of a dog   soaking in simple pleasures   Like a crack in the fog      I saw pressure come pouring out   I cut you open and let it out   Then comes the piston stroke again   compressing muscle like oxygen      The purr of a perfect lover   The curve of a song   soaking in simple pleasure   like a crack in the fog      You may serve them roses   you may serve their delight   but when the working day closes   I sing you sweetly goodnight      You duck your head when the Banchee screams   and pray for days shorter than they seem   then comes the whistle clock again   you wanna leave but your legs can''t bend      Still serving roses   serving roses and red