The Society of Tattoos
1
Would you like to know a secret?
On the surface it’s good news
I have found a special lady
If you discount her tattoos
They really do annoy me
They are ugly and obtuse
And look similar to branding
On some horse you fear to lose
Chorus
In a dream I had of Rene
Her tattoos of old had gone
I rejoiced to see her beauty
Like it had been once upon
But
we can’t get it together
Since she has another fellah
Who from one to ten is worthy of
a three
With a winning ace called
youthful wannabe
2
At night I dream of Rene
She’s the lady I most like
Ignoring how her partner
Died riding his motorbike
It was a Harley Davidson
Big and gutsy so they say
To be ridden by true heroes
With their tattoos on display
Chorus
In a dream I had of Rene
Her tattoos of old had gone
I rejoiced to see her beauty
Like it had been once upon
But we can’t get it together
Since she has another fellah
Who from one to ten is worthy of a three
With a winning ace called youthful wannabe
3
Her tattoos speak of graffiti
From her body to her neck
Betraying lost innocence
Minus the usual cheque
To pay the tattoo artist
Or the lady on her back
Lamenting virtue wasted
Going down the wrong track
Chorus
In a dream I had of Rene
Her tattoos of old had gone
I rejoiced to see her beauty
Like it had been once upon
But we can’t get it together
Since she has another fellah
Who from one to ten is worthy of a three
With a winning ace called youthful wannabe
4
Rene is quite beautiful
If the tattoos you ignore
Beneath which lies the lady
That I can’t help but adore
But she is already taken
I am guessing he’s a bore
Although I do not know him
He’s a stranger on the shore
Chorus
In a dream I had of Rene
Her tattoos of old had gone
I rejoiced to see her beauty
Like it had been once upon
But we can’t get it together
Since she has another fellah
Who from one to ten is worthy of a three
With a winning ace called youthful wannabe
5
Rene is a lovely lady
That might consider me
Save for the happy harvest
Weighing down this wannabe
When apples turn to cider
After rotting in a vat
How little folk remember
Of the person who made that
Chorus
In a dream I had of Rene
Her tattoos of old had gone
I rejoiced to see her beauty
Like it had been once upon
But we can’t get it together
Since she has another fellah
Who from one to ten is worthy of a three
With a winning ace called youthful wannabe
Epilogue
This only leaves me with more
songs to write
In the shadow of the long
approaching night
After which the white horse from
the plains
Will judge me by what’s left of my
remains
Beyond this, well we can only
guess
Of the kind of life we will then possess
Hopefully there will be a seat
for kissing
And romancing with the lady I am
missing
The End
© K.F. Geach
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