A brick house on a cold, dusty lane,
Full of kids drinking to cover their pain,
A sea of crumpled cans drown the wooden floors,
And a cloud of green gas eclipses the orange lamp beside the door,

And she walks over, with her hair tied back,
Her full, rouged lips arched and ready to attack,
But his drunken haze blurs his common sense,
And he lets her pull him outside to the neighbour's fence,

They walk along the lane with muddy socks,
Avoiding the tearful stones and rocks,
Then they stumble blindly into a bush,
Her hands on his belt, not knowing he doesn't want to rush,

She tears off his jeans and kisses him - missing his lips,
He pulls her close and holds her hips,
Not knowing that she only wants his body,
Or that in the morning his childish morals would be beaten ******,

Because what he thought was trust,
Ended up just being a night of drunken lust