The Wallet.

The Wallet.

The Wallet.

I had a wallet once or twice, and that was all rather nice
All shiny, black and leather too
A gift from a lady I once knew. A lady of distinction and impeccable taste
But maybe she should have known better than to give me something made of leather

It’s soft to the touch, although I never put much in it
I still like to caress, touch and feel it
What’s the deal with that, wonder have I got some kind of fetish ?
Possibly so, I just don’t know

It don’t make me strange or peculiar, although some may choose to disagree
But then they don’t really know me, so I won’t pay much attention to them, you see
Maybe I should just concentrate full-time on leather
Just wrap myself in it, till I know no better

I’m fairly sure I’ll derive a great deal of pleasure from that
Is that so very wrong ? As long as I don’t burst into song
It’s just a harmless inanimate pleasure
It’s only leather after all

It’s just that I start getting strange withdrawal symptoms
If I can’t get near leather. I seem to find myself getting into a bit of a tether
I just feel drawn to it, in a strange sort of way
That’s my lot, that’s the way. There’s really nothing more I can say.