Why call you me your love? I hate it.
Society laminated me with custom and curse.
I am only an ashtray to your emotions
Climbing this weighing machine
You push and press
And always expect your image to come out.
You need to recall a damp diaphanous dame
Spiraling out of surf to buy soap;
A cute belle drawing her hand
Down the cheeks of a guy to buy a shaving cream.
From bread to bed
From ass-wear to apparel
You subject yourself to the Freudian commercials.
When you see through the gory hole of 'amneo-centesis'
You press SOS signal if my image is coming out.
Why call you me your love?
I hate it. I hate it to the hilt.