Lie beside me on the grassThey're fighting me for theemistress
The fields of blood I'd leftThey mean nothing to youThat
Take your ownSick with feverAnd cry out loudTo GodYour sorry
You can't expect to see him and surviveYou'll shallow his
read to memake your words as picturesreveal to methe forever
I soothe I lend a gracious earYour sobbing, somehow sexualCome
What is it you hope for, even though you are
Your bloodied is what I cling to.In powerful rain, they
You, who stand there nowI will not tell you not