Frank Stanford - The Cloud lyrics

Her fan is like his deep voice when he whispers Yeah when her hand is in his cumberbund and he's smoking a stogie with gloves on An orchid or a knife Her lips are wet fur and sometimes they are two folks peeling an apple and a hummingbird's blood on a french door She is sleepwalking through our barn Her mantilla strings along a nasty brat said the spider to the fly You could see the arteries in her breasts They were dressed rabbits