Coming from the mind of a lowdown thief
she's more than an image, a servant, a chief
she's twenty, she's thirty, almost seventeen
she's the powder, the water, the sugar, the cream

She's warm, she's open, she's always at home
she's a fine host, many-sided, polychrome
she reads your face and then leaves it to be
she's full of gold in her poverty

Shouldn't she get a lotta love
the flowered madonna

She's a picture to strangers and pictures to you
she's an artist in everything you want her to do
she's a guide to hapiness and a friend to the guide
she's the queen of taste, she's pleasant, she's bright

And then she lays her hand on your shoulder
but you stiffen you turn colder and colder
seems it only happens in your mind
is it a wonder she is asking herself
if you're mad or if there's anyone else
the answer is impossible to find