THE SITE OF THE SEE-THRU Some things are better left unsaid. Here are some of them You don't know What you do With the sight Of your see-thru You don't know How it hurts Looking under Your microskirts Every night The same nightmare I see myself waking And you're not there Every day My dream comes true – These rags are all that Are left of you The scent of perfume on the breeze Your body put my mind at ease One hundred years of therapy Won't cure this sensitivity And it goes without saying That she comes Without murmuring a sound And she leaves Without uttering a word Some things are Better left unsaid Some things are Better left unheard