Crass

Your tactile eyes running over glossy paper
Printed on with tactile lies of glaze and gauze
They say forget yourself, adorn with this disguise
This womanhood of smooth and tampered whores
Let me warn you of their cold sensitivity
They'll have you gathered in a trap of glass
Is your reflection all the you will recognise?
That cruel lie will stare you in the face
Wrapped up in a haze and flow of bridal gown
They tell your lover he must hold a gun
You're the pornographic reassurance he's a man
They deal with flesh, incarcerate with rags
Red lips, shimmer-silk and body-bags
Hairless legs against the blistered napalm burn
I want to rape the substance of your downy hair
In that mist a gutted child fights for air
Against the fragile, mashed and sweaty wound