I was a young man, starving and drinking   And trying, to become a writer   And I remember that apartment   The smell of mice and dust   And the old woman with the pretty legs   All the kisses that I lost to your neck,   I am a tennis player, playing on both sides of the net   And I, will get you yet,   And I will turn you, I will turn you   Like a tattooed pigskin   And this time you won’t forget my face   Read my lips      A sculpture is a sculpture   Marmalade is marmalade   And a sculpture of marmalade is a sculpture   But it isn’t marmalade   She said with you inside me,    Comes the knowledge of my death   But I still had some oranges left   Underneath the bed      I came to you, I came to depend on you   I came upon you, I came upon your floor   But the god should be left alone   One mustn’t bang upon the door   She said for everything that is visible   There is a copy that is hidden   She said, nothing takes on life   Until it has been eaten   I was working the hole with the sailor   And you wonder you don’t get invited to more parties   Read my lips      A sculpture is a sculpture   Marmalade is marmalade   And a sculpture of marmalade is a sculpture   But it isn’t marmalade   She said with you inside me,    Comes the knowledge of my death   But I still had some oranges left   Underneath the bed