It happens again.
Forgive me for being crude,
but my mind is a mess.
And that's, what I guess,
I want from you;
the mess.

I know you'd be fine.
Forgive me for being blunt,
but I fantasize.
And that's, I suppose, the crime.
We are too pure,
sometimes.

So drill me,
thrill me,
stuff me up and
spill me.
Drop me,
don't stop me,
until you know
you've got me.

It happens again.
Forgive me for being out of line,
but my mind is a mess.
And that's, I would guess,
the level you want it at;
the mess.
 
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