Molehills

These are not my hands This is not my open mouth I watch me play my part with feeling, fire and heart I know these lines so well But these are not my words And you are not my valentine I chitchat, flirt and smile, deceived by my own guile Bewitched by my own spell Beware the modest mole, with his big, friendly jazz hands His black fur, made for fondling and small, kind eyes He hides violence in his smile and venom in his kiss These are not my friends This is not my family I play along to please, I fight away the freeze I swallow back my yell I watch me play my part with feeling, fire and heart I know these lines so well These are not my ears that hear you These are not my kissing lips And these are not my arms that hold you These are not my breasts, my hips And these are not my eyes that smile And these are not my legs that part This is not my voice that calls you This is not my head, my heart The common mole lives in a tunnel system which it constantly extends Within these dark burrows he hunts Using his toxic bite to paralyze his prey So that his meal can be stored alive and eaten later