he had
been a
pretty
thing.

i got my
own to
keep and
he’s got
his own.

we ain’t
got no love
to make.

when can
we learn to
live without

touching?

he had
been a
pretty
thing.

we crawled
in the back
seat of my
car and i
pulled mine
out first.

i came
on his
*** and
was proud
for it.

i know he
won’t need
me again.

i got my
own to
keep and
he’s got
his;

we gather it
together
under a
dying
sun.