The Charm Of Innocence

I was born with the charm of innocence On my back like a cross Thorns upon my forehead Round my neck I wore it Sometimes a rabbit's claw Sometimes an albatross It began at a school that turned boys into gentlemen Then turned them on to debauchery I was forced to my knees in front of these gentlemen If I refused they would torture me On Sundays I'd stalk the Botanical Garden And under my uniform something would harden Whenever I passed a girl of my own age Or did it begin with au pair girls from Germany Paid by the hour to look after us? Did it begin with that first opportunity To corner a stranger with nakedness? Maybe the clinical way they undressed me Stayed with me and deeply distressed me I think, at heart, I'm something of a prude I was born with the charm of innocence On my back like a cross Thorns upon my forehead Round my neck I wore it Sometimes a rabbit's claw Sometimes an albatross Then at eighteen I decided I wanted To be a commercial photographer I rented a studio down by the docks Which I shared with a friendly pornographer I photographed models in fluorescent light Whose veins were so blue and whose breasts were so white I assumed, like the moon, women were blue cheese When I left home I already had five years Of self abuse under my belt I found certain women who'd let me try anything Just to find out how it felt In some garish hotel room with vile decoration The wallpaper witnessed my first pollination The paisley patterns witnessed an abortion I was born with the charm of innocence On my back like a cross Thorns upon my forehead Round my neck I wore it Sometimes a rabbit's claw Sometimes an albatross In the army they taught me to share the abuse That I'd kept up 'til then to myself There's nothing like killing For coaxing a shy boy of twenty-one out of his shell In the dark continent with a peace-keeping force I fell in with a bunch of Algerian whores And promised them I'd try and keep in touch We met up again in the eighteenth arrondisement I remember them well Their lank stringy hair and their big bulbous noses Their unmistakable smell I'd approach all the ugliest, seediest jerks And ask them to keep a young model in work Some men, thank Christ, don't discriminate at all I was born with the charm of innocence On my back like a cross Thorns upon my forehead Round my neck I wore it Sometimes a rabbit's claw Sometimes an albatross I will pass my old age by a pale two-bar fire Patiently waiting to die Twitching the lace as the schoolgirls go past Tracing a page of Bataille And if you catch sight of my secondhand coat Leaving behind it a faint whiff of goat Remember both of us are naked underneath I thought it would end with the first obscene phone call The second professional kill But somehow detached from my actual behavior This innocence burdens me still Up in the attic I pick up the brush Paint in the crow's feet, paint out the blush The face this portrait is of is still capable of The face this portrait is supposed to be of is still capable of The face this portrait is of is still capable of (Paint out the blush of shame) The face this portrait is supposed to be of is still capable of (Paint out the blush of shame) The face this portrait is of is still capable of (Paint out the blush of shame) The face this portrait is supposed to be of is still capable of (Paint out the blush of shame) The face this portrait is of is still capable of (Paint out the blush of shame) The face this portrait is supposed to be of is still capable of (Paint out the blush of shame) End on G.