The Charm Of Innocence

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 18 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

In the army they taught me to share the abuse

That I'd kept up till 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 18th 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 behaviour

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

Paint out the blush of shame