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