Masters In China

You've always been bashful, you're just that wayBut your eyes are like billboards, they give you awayYour mouth is a trumpet, somebody else playsLong after the notes gone, the tone usually staysAnd your chest a fine pillow, with lining of featherYour hair is a family, with strands stick togetherFingers are keys from the grandest piano, played by a line that the Lord only knewA tongue of an angel, floats in red wine salivaYour teeth ravel porcelain, made by masters in ChinaYour face can't be captured by pictures or wordsAnd your voice is a music that I've never heardAnd your skin is a cream, dipped out beyond measureYour nose is a pink color touched by the weatherYour fingers are keys from the grandest pianoPlayed by a soul that the Lord only knowsOoh...