Her eyes and words are so icy

Oh but she burns

Like rum on a fire

Hot and fast and angry

As she can be

I walk my days on a wire



It looks ugly, but it's clean

Oh mamma, don't fuss over me



The way she tells me I'm hers and she is mine

Open hand or closed fist would be fine

The blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine



Calls of guilty thrown at me

All while she stains

The sheets of some other

Thrown at me so powerfully

Just like she throws with the arm of her brother



But I want it, it's a crime

That she's not around most of the time



The way she tells me I'm hers and she is mine

Open hand or closed fist would be fine

The blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine



Her fight and fury is fiery

Oh but she loves

Like sleep to the freezing

Sweet and right and merciful

I'm all but washed

In the tide of her breathing



And I want it, it's divine

I have this some of the time



The way she tells me I'm hers and she is mine

Open hand or closed fist would be fine

The blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine