“Money, Cars and Women”
Is all they sing about.
And those are all objects,
and they make me one too.
My hands are not my own,
apparently they’re for you.
And my eyes, and my face and my cheeks,
have held my tears, and my joys and my pains,
they have beheld my mother and my friends,
but apparently, they’re for you.
And my breasts were what I was born with,
and I always would day dream,
of bearing my first child,
and using them to bring life to it’s little body.
But my breasts aren’t my own either-
apparently they are yours.
And my body,
oh it’s held my dreams.
oh it’s held my life.
It’s held my days, and my pains,
my loves and my future.
It’s held my words and my life and my everything-
it’s the only body I’ve got.
Because objects do not have the choice to give itself away for someone else’s use-
they are just taken.