To it they seem like monsters Or maybe beings of a higher plane.
Perhaps some kind of angel Or merely a devil sliding into the play.

To it their words are beautiful The best music it can find To it the most obscene,
Is the sweetest thing alive.

Their steps are more erotic Every time they stroke it's skin.
A shiver down his spine,
and a new urge arisen.

To taste everything they leave behind,
Sends him almost spirialing.
The oil, rain, and garbage,
Are to him the finest wine.

He loves them all, this human race That walk, trample and dace down his back.
He's the one who leads them home He's the one they walk on.