I refuse to reduce myself to an emotion based on a drive based on a body part or some other sexual fetish,
I'm not a moan or a groan against a bed board shaking the frame,
I'm a tear in a gutter, I'm flotsam in a glass of whiskey,
So I turn back on my bar stool towards the bartender,
And tenderize the meat in my mind so I don't need to cry,
For a sociopathic delusion that I should care,
Love, they told me, they showed me, and they forced it to be in their meaningfull lyrics.
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