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
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 7:48 PM UTC
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
