masters in china

you've always been bashful, you're just that way, but your eyes are like billboards, they give you away, your mouth is a trumpet, somebody else plays, long after the notes gone, the tone usually stays, and your chest a fine pillow, with lining of feather, your hair is a family, with strands stick together, fingers are keys from the grandest piano, played by a line that the lord only knew, a tongue of an angel, floats in red wine saliva, your teeth ravel porclein, made by masters in china, your face can't be captured by pictures or words, and your voice is a music that i've never heard, and your skin is a cream, dipped out beyond measure, your nose is a pink color touched by the weather, your fingers are keys from the grandest piano, played by a soul that the lord only knows, ooh.