Is the key to our pleasure
Could quite get the touch of?
Wouldn't he dream of the thing that he never
Of herself, in what measure
But it made me imagine
What kind of a dream he would have
Hidden in veils, dreaming of mystery
That hadn't been spent
Dreaming of mystery
Out of his reach, under this real life
Hidden in veils, dreaming of mystery
I knew what he meant
Hidden in veils, covered in silk
Would he still dream of the thigh
Out of our reach, under this real life
Under this real life
Under this real life
It's out of his hands, over his head
It's out of our hands, over our heads
Who's to know what she'll show
And it made me imagine
If what she reveals or what she conceals
"She's a pornographer's dream", he said
The flesh upon high what he saw so much of?
Out of his reach, under this real life
Dreaming of what might be
It's out of his hands, over his head
It's out of our hands, over our heads
Bettie Page is still the rage
She turns to tease the camera
And please us at home and we let her
Out of our reach, under this real life
Hidden in veils, covered in silk
With her legs and leather
Dreaming of what might be
Dreaming of what might be
