She's Lazy Testo

Testo She's Lazy

He woke up at eleven in the night-mist morning no coffee, no bread, no breakfast at his bed She's hanging around in the living room looking TV, surrounded by staples of women mags with beautiful faces on glosspaint covers so completely different from this garbage-canned flat An overdosed shit-looking dog cave especially designed for a bunch of wife-murdering husbands She looks so fascinating with her smeared lipstick in a soiled, coffeewet robe, sipping at a bottle of gin In the empty wardrobe there isn't even fresh underwear but his wish to kiss her nice gin-moisty chin is bigger than his dislike of chain smokers throwing all their cigarette stubs on the carpet floor She's his wife and his favourite slut his lazy dirty queen, he says he loves her core She, she, she's lazy she, she, she's lazy but wonderfully crazy