My tastes are of a peculiar kind,
The type I bet you never can find
In this lost generation of ours
That knows not the preciosity of hours.
My tastes are so amusing and odd,
And some are like those of the great men of old,
Yet some have never been,
And others shall never again be seen.
Many people talk of my tastes
As being the nature that God detests,
While I think they are perfectly well;
The sort that the tongues of angels tell!