Rod Stewart
Da Ya Think I'm Sexy

Those of "Take My Breathe Away" by Berlin. Bed rocked by pleasure, undulating edges of Zucchi flowered blankets, luxurious weave of sheets and briefs. Back and forth, all knots come to a head. Chesterfield, in 6 minutes and 46.

Those of "Alice" by Dead Can Dance. Two and a half square mattress with an erotic dream included, distorting mirrors to capture the act from more radiants, open-space windows with cold December sleet included in the price. Quick, it's cold. Nestetì, 4 minutes and 18.

Those of "Halber Mensch" by Einstürzende Neubauten. Orthopedic with wooden slats without seals, Gascon strip-tease spiced with Jane-Style Amazonian screams, skeet shooting, pole vaulting, and diving. Zeal, too much zeal... I said "zeal", right? Barely two minutes, before the end of the track.

Those of "More Than This" by Bryan Ferry. Comfortable and tidy one and a half square bed, duvet with a fresh scent of Vernel, mega-plush Trudy passively participating in "Handclap-someonedad'scoming", until dad really arrives, and we stop at three minutes and a quarter.

Those of "I Just Called to Say I Love You" by Stevie Wonder. Waterbed, tape player, late '80s revival with health blankets. International intrigue among the plastic folds of the sheets, beast ready for use with theft-fire insurance. If anything concludes, about fifteen minutes, but of pure acclimatization.

Those of "Tu Me Fais Tourner la Tete" by Edith Piaf. Bunk bed, ancient charm, fake mahogany furniture with included booklice. Anklet and pedal backer in tone, Marilyn's style whiskey bottle, coconut air freshener to cover any odors. Come on, in the end, there's even a little fart, 7 and 44.

Those of "Just Like a Pill" by Pink. Stilt house with ready-to-break tools, anti-rust non-metal metal large studs, rustic smells, and a very funny villager popping out of the chest, "to see what's going on." After 4 minutes, we can't take any more of padlocks and various types and we download a Nesquik, the one with the bunny.

Those of "Da Ya Think I'm Sexy", by Rod Stewart. Rod, you really got it right. You really understood everything about life, always being the rooster with the comb and writing about your frivolous affairs, your sex appeal. Ah, Rod, old devil, "If you want my body, and you think I'm sexy, come on, sugar, let me knoooooow": so much libido, so much fury, so much mysticism. How much I would love to hear it shouted at me, how much I would love to be able to shout it.
Great Rod, prophet of sex in music.

Where have you gone, Rod, where have you gone, women.