I'm tired of boys who fight with girls and stain their sheets
And girls who tell stories of boys and graze their knees
And where did you get to smell so sweet
Is that sweetness for me
And where did I find these eyes that I found
They will surely let me down

And your hair stops short of a line which starts at your neck
And flows over your collarbone down to your breast
Where my hand lies ever so gently

And my hand starts to move down your stomach and in between those thighs
To a soft warm place I call home and may god protect your home

There's a lady who cries and builds a shrine for a miscarried child
And a small boy who cries and cries and cries and cries and cries
I see these sights with the sleepiest eyes and a heart so contentedly wise and tired
And now I bathe in the light of the most beautiful angel this side of the sun