| There’s blood between my legs
|
| And in the grass outside your house I came
|
| You’re salty to the taste
|
| And if I squint just right I can see his face
|
| With back against the grass your girlish weight
|
| Does little more than leave me sore below the waist
|
| The night refines your face
|
| Your mouth agape, I strain to keep mine straight
|
| There’s blood between my legs
|
| And our hands, our glands are both on a rampage
|
| Pressed against my chest, your tender face
|
| Does little more than leave me sore below the waist
|
| This is no easy lie
|
| But in trying times I go down without a fight
|
| This is more wrong than right
|
| But it’s hard to see the difference in this light
|
| Your tongue between my teeth, it’s tepid taste
|
| Does little more than leave me sore below the waist |