The Gallery

When I first saw your gallery I liked the ones of ladies Then you began to hang up me You studied to portray me In ice and greens And old blue jeans And naked in the roses Then you got into funny scenes That all your work discloses "Lady, don't love me now I am dead I am a saint, turn down your bed I have no heart," that's what you said You said, "I can be cruel But let me be gentle with you" Somewhere in a magazine I found a page about you I see that now it's Josephine Who cannot be without you I keep your house in fit repair I dust the portraits daily Your mail comes here from everywhere The writing looks like ladies' "Lady, please love me now, I am dead I am a saint, turn down your bed I have no heart," that's what you said You said, "I can be cruel But let me be gentle with you" I gave you all my pretty years Then we began to weather And I was left to winter here While you went west for pleasure And now you're flying bock this way Like some lost homing pigeon They've monitored your brain, you say And changed you with religion "Lady, please love me now I was dead I am no saint, turn down your bed Lady, have you no heart," that's what you said Well, I can be cruel But let me be gentle with you When I first saw your gallery I liked the ones of ladies But now their faces follow me And all their eyes look shady