Wireless, Sexless and Soulless

The way she wears the world’s envy on her breast,
You’d think this rebuilt engine would never be second guessed,
But perfection is betrayed with her caller ID,
It’s a nine hundred number but the first hundred years are free,
All this clockwork cock-jerk sex just ain’t sexy.
Oh I can see her beauty’s beast,
Feel the scales behind the silk,
Hear the ring tone’s s.o.s.,
Taste Coca Cola in the mother’s milk.
This ain’t love it’s just a masturbation martyr’s crush,
She could charm god’s lawyer with her video blush,
It’s a promise of a promise only a liar could keep, A crop only Able could sow;
only Cain could reap, This tease is satisfaction’s surrogate dreamless shock
of sleep.
Oh I know thats not her real name,
I can guess her weight,
I believe her religion is her fame,
I think she would eat her mate.
Music that sounds like an advertisement for music that sounds like this,
And there is no sex in the soul of this shamelessly scripted kiss,
No you’ll never get rug burns and love bites from this sexless breeder,
She’s just a hydroponic carrot because the man at the top is a bottom feeder,
If everything is all there is well then this ain’t much,
Ah but this machine can manufacture such a human touch.
Oh it’s wireless; sexless and soulless,
That’s the way they control us,
With these empty dreams they cajole us,
With these hardwired habits they enroll us.