A very bad slut smokes and bangs a chair

All we love is sex, makeup, sex, makeup, sex, sex, sex, sex, makeup, *****.

My point is, your form is like poison, and our room would be a selective beacon.

You're totally mine, and I'm your fucking maniac. Out of the window of hunger, we'd be pulling into a sailor.

Suddenly you're sad, but not sad. No, I guess I missed it too.

And somewhere out there, blood-holed, there seems to be a pause.