I'm his pet. He takes me for granted and poor child of me, I behave like that. He have me into his hands, for all the time these hands slide sinuously across my body. "You're lost little girl, in a prison of your own device" old unca Jim sings to me. I daydreamed this sunday of unspeakable secrets, unca Jim. Why do I have his hands if I lost his heart? Do you know my dream, little dream? Do you know my love, little love?

And still Angie comes to my ears... Ain't it time we said goodbye? But I can't, can I? I'm his pet. Beloved, adored pet. Nothing less, nothing else.