She wears he-harem

Ooh you wear your he-harem
Hat and a lace bib that zips up the back
To be an 'N' on a leash of men
An endless spool of fools lick of patchwork in your new suit. See the stone moths that sweep up
And your suitcase ful of new clothes
Made of manskins and the souls that pop out.

Ooh you wear your he-harem
coat and a real dick boa wrapped around your throat
To be an 'X' in sexless equation
Bead on a spool of jewels cold backup for your crown, Queen. There's a suitcase ful of old robes
And the seamster is a stone moth
Made of real hearts and the souls you done stole.

Ooh you wear your he-harem
Dress and fake lashes lap up the mess
That grows like breath within your wake coin-toss a glance Back at the road of men you paved, dear.