Maybe I'm a masochist
Shamelessly drawn to the flame
Yes I have an affinity to tight warm spaces
Maybe I'm nasty
When will I stop thinking with the head in-between my legs
Sticky sheets, bruised egos and damaged goods surround me
I'll take the strings attached next time
Pull on my heart strings
I'm not dead. Hear it beat
Hopelessly drawn to you
Rescue me for carnal desires
In your arms I want to rest
Come quickly, don't delay
There is much work to be done
Till the soil, nurture this earthen dwelling
Sow your seeds in what was once considered dead
No longer soiled
What was once public is now solely yours
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