There are hooks in you I am only fickle finned I cannot swim fast enough To **** my mouth onto yours Because- There are games in you A hunting sport A terror red ravaging game You relish it as the juices drip down your chin
There are hooks in you And I am only fickle finned Pulling me into you Teeth and claws sharper, gashing deeper -Secret pleasure in the raw raw flesh
There are rumours shrouding you Bullet words hurtling through my skull Plumetting through leaves, through everything I know There are hooks in you
And I am only feather winged I cannot float fast enough To embed your bullet in my chest Because- This is a game to you A hunting sport A biting, sinking, blood filled game There are hooks in you
And all this hunting, swelling, biting All this heaving, sweating, fighting All this terror, flying, swimming All this hooking, shooting, chasing Does me no good,
For I am fickle finned I am feather winged And this is a game To you.