Brioche man
Won’t you hurry
Because I’m tired of this grease
For a golden pound
Won’t you bring back
All that tenderness to my skin
Soft buttery balls, you carry
Combray’s steeples, madeleines, poor weak Proust
Brioche man
Met a double-faced sponge
On a bullying London’s road
Lost my charity
When I found it
It had turned to sugary fake jam
Soft buttery balls, you carry
Cold Pantheon, impressionism, rich real Zola
Brioche man
You’re the answer
Which makes my hunger disappear
Brioche man
Because I am consumed
By those double-faced sponges I hear
Brioche man
Won’t you hurry
Because I’m tired of turning heads which disappear
Brioche man
I long for the soft brain of your crumbly balls
They soak damp from houses and autumn leaves
Can your brioches absorb the pain for me?
Brioche man...
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