You sluts, you whores, you merry men
dropping pills of aspirin
from between your knees.
Engaged in wanton promiscuity.
I swear to you you’ll burn, you wait,
you’ll ooze from parts you flaunt and shake.
I used to curse you, reprobates,
tempting sin like coiled snakes.

In the dark, at night, I dream
of skin rubbed down with margarine,
and curves that twist and twine with me,
and sometimes men are fucking me;
and I know this, this much is clear, it’s your fault
when I’m feeling queer.
I will burn this country down
I’ll burn it as a holy ground

What you’ve done, what you’ve wrought –
positions you should not be taught –
I will say what’s sold and bought:
and you own nothing here.

But, Science! Science! you will cry.
Just like a sinner to defy,
(and so you’ll never testify)
the will of god is clear.

No pills for you, little miss, the bible says what science is,
and you can thank your pretty head you ever leave this feather bed.
Your children need their schooling done
and dinner cooked, and family spun
to be the web they never leave.
You’re mine, you’re mine, but never grieve

I love you, thing
I love you, wet
I love you sharp
I love you split
I love you with my misery
because you sin, can’t you see?