When I put on my black lace
And lay in my bed
Are the kinds of things
Good girls don't dream about, but are bad girl fantasies...
The things I think about doing
When I put on my black lace
And turn the lights down low
Are the kinds of things
Proper girls don't consider, but bawdy girls ponder incessantly.
The things I want from you
When I put on my black lace
And turn up the slow jams
Are the kinds of things
Innocence knows nothing of, but experience could lecture on.
The kinds of things I want to give you
When I put on my black lace
And light the sented candles
Are the kinds of things
Ladies shudder at, but whores embrace.
So is it the black lace that twists me?
Transfigures me from good/proper/innocent lady
to
Bad/bawdy/jaded whore?
Well...
The things I dream about
When I put on my black lace
Are the things I dream about
In my pinstriped suit
On the subway...
And those same dirty doings
I think about in my black lace
Are the same doings I want to do
Shopping in my designer jeans...
And those same burning desires
When I'm in my black lace
Are the same desires that burn
When I'm sweating at the gym...
And those naughty gifts I have for you
When I wear that black lace
Are the same things I want to give
When I'm listening to the preacher on a Sunday afternoon
So what does that make me?
Closet freak good girl or Saintly whore...?
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