Am                               F 
she's a pornographer's dream, he said. 
F 
I knew what he meant. 
    C 
but it made me imagine: what kind of a dream 
            Am 
he would have, that hadn't been spent? 

Am 
would he still dream of the thigh? of the flesh upon high? 
        F 
what he saw so much of? 
           E 
wouldn't he dream of the thing that he never 
           Am 
could quite get the touch of? 

                 F               G 
it's out of his hands, over his head 
            A 
out of his reach, under this real life 
           F                 G 
hidden in veils, covered in silk 
                 A 
he's dreaming of what might be 

            F               G 
out of his hands, over his head 
            A 
out of his reach, under this real life 
            F     G 
hidden in veils, 
                  A 
he's dreaming of mystery. 

 Am 
Bettie Page is still the rage 
          F 
with her legs and leather; 
     E                                           Am 
she turns to tease the camera, and please us at home, 
and we let her. 

 Am                                  F 
who's to know what she'll show of herself, 
F 
in what measure? 
   E 
if what she reveals, or what she conceals, 
       Am 
is the key to our pleasure? 

                 F               G 
it's out of his hands, over his head 
            A 
out of his reach, under this real life 
           F                 G 
hidden in veils, covered in silk 
                 A 
he's dreaming of what might be 

            F               G 
out of his hands, over his head 
            A 
out of his reach, under this real life 
            F     G 
hidden in veils, 
                  A 
he's dreaming of mystery. 

Am                               F 
she's a pornographer's dream, he said. 
F 
I knew what he meant. 
    C 
but it made me imagine: what kind of a dream 
            Am 
he would have?