I listened to you,
But I didn’t hear anything you said,
Provoked from the corner of this room
Our eyes laid down their presumptions,
And set aside the regiments
Of an orientated world,
Who called these two to bed?
Was it the leather bound man with no voice?
Or the boys who sat quietly in the corner,
The only thing unnatural in this place is your reservations
The first misinterpreted touch of feeling,
The last understood sound of reason
A moan left shrieking through your halls
“I’m all lost†you say
Sitting in the middle of your room
Tinkering with your spinning bottle
There’s only two of us, I know what you’re getting at.
I’m sick and tired of these innuendos
What happened to the good old days
When lust received in many ways,
Bonded, burnt, scolded, beaten
Laid to rest and finally eaten
Come here… be your first, and I’ll come last.
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