Your lips give me breath Your rod and your staff, they comfort me But my prayers have become monotonous And everything I write has been said before Am I your ****? Am I your little *****? Too foolish to know what's good, A glutton begging for more Breaking bread in the bathtub You lick the communion wine from my thighs The morning light peeking in, a raging sadness within I wipe the night from my eyes Maybe you only call me baby in a bathrobe And maybe I'm better off alone