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's a fine pillow
With lining of feather
Your hair is a family
Where strands stick together
Your fingers are keys from the grandest piano
Played by a soul that the Lord only knows

The tongue of an angel floats
In red wine saliva
Your teeth rival porcelain
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
Divvied out beyond measure
Your nose is a pink never
Touched by the weather
Your fingers are keys from the grandest piano
Played by a soul that the Lord only knows
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