Текст: Why?. Point Blank.

Point blank

You are nobody's boyfriend
Just a series of anatomy lessons
Under your specific skin
Treating your cells like a stamp collection
Framing your (stick of?) dick
Behind monitor glass

Unholy and wholly unsettled
Like unearthed indian bones
With fleabitten ankles
And itchy blanket beds
Impressed from a wet pocket
In a packed flat desert
Even place calls
With the numbers on men's room walls

You are nobody's boyfriend
Just a series of anatomy lessons
Under your specific skin