Embossed Fire my desire, to be wined and dined, make passionate love, blow my mind. Your efforts lack lustre, buster, don't pass muster. I need a roller coaster ride, not a casual bit on the side, admiring the ceiling, the paper that's peeling. Ancient lincrusta, stuffed with linseed oil and wood flour, bittersweet, sour, as the words which you shower on me baby. Baby, your dust, I'm sick of your bluster, buster.