She's on a beach in Maui her breasts are half uncovered
  I try to stop myself from staring at her butt I'm drawn like Dagwood to sleep
  The lawn may need mowing but still I can't prevent my thoughts
  From becoming obscene so I justify, she's only a page in a magazine
  She's not real, she doesn't feel.
  Eyes pierce her scraps of cloth.
  Her value is lost
    Crown of all creation, bane of jealous angels
  She's nothing more to me than food for a fantasy
  And though I know it's a shame, I won't turn away
  My thoughts are so casually lead astray
  And I know it's not right it feels so unclean
  but she's just a page in a magazine
  She's not real, she doesn't feel.
  Eyes pierce her scraps of cloth. Her value is lost
  49er, gold prospector.
  Her body is my claim
  As she assumes some cheesy pose, imagination see's no close
  And I don't even know her name
  Her body breaks my minds leash like Gus broke his chain