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She's a
goddess in the making,
With her alabaster skin,
I worship at her feather bed,
I know it is a sin.
My body
is a sacrifice,
My soul is hers to keep,
I try to lie here quietly,
But I can never sleep.
I feel
her hand upon my thigh,
And start to move about,
A pilgrim on a pilgrimage,
A worshiper, devout.
Her Holy
City has a name,
It's "Fantasy Motel",
And though it seems so heavenly,
I know I'm going to Hell.
This
goddess is a devil, but
She wears a great disguise,
She looks just like an angel,
I can see it in her eyes.
But when
she's done her plundering,
She up and walks away,
I tried to fight temptation,
But she led me all astray.
And now
I'm here and all alone,
Inside this motel room,
And in my dreams I see her face,
And smell her sweet perfume.
by David Ronald Bruce Pekrul
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