| The man that I am with my man
|
| His warm coals heat toes
|
| A shower cleans the surface and holes
|
| Water, soap and hands
|
| I sit while he stands
|
| Over me I can hardly see
|
| That he is peeing on my shoulders and knees
|
| A warm, wet yellow breeze
|
| He towels my head until dry
|
| And leads me to his bed opened wide
|
| For my penis, nose, fingers and feet
|
| Body, worn and set for sleep
|
| Taking out my hand
|
| He lifts me up and we both stand
|
| We could be in the army or the Klan
|
| 'Cause when we’re brothers in blood
|
| I think we’re brothers in band
|
| Solid is the rock of my man
|
| Solid is the rock of my man
|
| Solid is the rock of my man
|
| The man that I am with my man
|
| Tamed but feeling no blame
|
| Taking my red wishes in hand
|
| Until my eyes have closed
|
| The man that I am with my man
|
| Pulled, poked and probed
|
| His tongue licks my armpits and chest
|
| Warm, red, soft and wet
|
| Making a cut with a knife on my hand
|
| Then he uses his tongue, licks, swallows and grins
|
| On my knees, I do the same to my man
|
| Blood juices loosen me up in me, I feel man in man
|
| Taking out his hand
|
| He lifts me up and pets my head
|
| We could be in the army or the Klan
|
| 'Cause when we’re brothers in blood
|
| I think we’re brothers in band
|
| Solid is the rock of my man
|
| Solid is the rock of my man
|
| Solid is the rock of my man
|
| The men, they are men with their men
|
| Raised in an army camp
|
| Spit on my tarnished hands
|
| And pull at my underpants
|
| I’ll be the man who I am with my man
|
| Dressed in borrowed clothes
|
| He softens my deep blues with his thighs
|
| The fear of ocean underside
|
| Taking out their hands
|
| They lift me up and we all stand
|
| We may be in the army or the Klan
|
| 'Cause when we’re brothers in blood
|
| Then we are brothers in band
|
| Taking out his hand
|
| He lifts me up and we both stand
|
| We could be in the army or the Klan
|
| 'Cause when we’re brothers in blood
|
| Then we are brothers in band |