in between the scars of life,
painted sheets on canvas tile.
she spreads her legs, and not her wings.
these sacred acts as little things.
(Love is a weapon!)
Feeding on another's weakness.
Pleasure is a vicious motive.
Physically passive sickness.
And life often comes from this.
in between the words that lie,
silent arrival in a noisy night.
what becomes spoiled once was fresh,
hidden deep inside the flesh.
(Love is a come-on line!)
Feeling it because he wants it.
Feeding him to keep him close.
Every little human flaunts it.
Reeling in with baited prose.
What is sin? Must you always give in?
Your temptation is sexual medicine.
Is love such an empty word? I'm not proud of this.
This isn't what blood is for. I know...
in between the hours of sleep,
soaken dreams falling deep.
mistake the pleasure for comfort.
a cheap form of love that you can't afford.
Is love such an empty word? Are you proud of this?
A gift crafted out of dirt. I know...
Love sucks! Love fucks you over!
Love sucks! Love is forever!
Is love such an empty word? I never understood.
This can't be what blood is for. I know...
And love's such a dirty word. I'm not proud of this.
A gift crafted out of dirt by God.