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

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