It’s hot as hell The sun beats down While we’re waiting for gelato In a brutal crowd He makes you walk Ten steps behind A shadow floating down the street, Just a pair of eyes And they’re closed
Can’t see the sweat That’s on your skin While your husband looks through gucci shades Wears white linen What kind of God forbids you’re seen? Maybe it’s just a man Who thinks you’re property?
I’ll never understand the way you live I want to ask about it and it isn’t innocent What keeps you covered up? Some backwards superstition Or someone’s idea of love? Or is it both at once?
