Warmth is what we crave, our hearts fuel to the fire, caressing one another's flesh, taking each other higher, fight my bruising kisses, let me tease you as I mar, that which I do worship, every heartbeat, every scar, cage my hand inside yours, hold me tighter than you dare, constrict around my heart my love, it's open and it's bared.

What does happen in the night?,
where restless youths beg for a fight,
where women with all dignity lost, will sell you their services at a cost,

where men will pay for their hunger to sate and tell their wives they're coming home late, where knowing wives are sat at home, waiting by the telephone, hoping he has done what's right, but that's not what happens in the night.

The children cower in their beds, the fear of the night sat in their heads, imagining monsters, causing fright, but that's not what happens in the night.

The children do not know, why mothers eyes are red, why father is not home, tucking them into bed, but father is still searching for that which will excite, for this is what happens, in the absence of light.