No one really knows what's wrong with you
No one really knows what they are supposed to do.

The doctor gave you Zoloft
The counselor gave you cognitive therapy
The priest gave you confession
The devil gave you credence

And still they are asking me.

She's so strange and deliberate
She seems to be a mystic

But no one really knows what's wrong with you.

They call you from the mountains
They shout at you from the seas
They say your name in harmony

But no one really knows what's wrong with you (and me?)

You get them all so angry
You get them all so scared

You leave them all in poverty
You fulfill all their greedy dreams.

You leave them on their knees praying to a serial killer.

They scream at you in silence
They whisper to the stars
They demand you to be their guidance
Their claim to victory.

But no one really knows what's wrong with you.

They hold you so dear
They stroke you so tenderly
They bite you on the breast
They pummel you to rest.

When they are dying for that last breath
They want to know

No one really knows what's wrong with you.

They came to me and asked me
I told them what I knew
But I was never right about much of anything
I just told them what they knew

They were all in agreement
That there is something kind of wrong with you...

Savouring the wait,
Laying out the bait,
Listening,
Glistening.

Groan escapes your lips,
Slight shiver of hips,
I know
You grow.

Finally, I feel your touch
Subtle pressures, not too much,
We'll play
Your way.

Hands upon me, with insistence,
Growing rough, meet no resistance,
Capture
Rapture.

**** will never release
the way our eyes touched—
and held between them:
those worries in your fingertips.