so many times i've broken your head
on the rock of my fisted hand
to help deal with the sadness
of you being not who i wish you would be

drinking mint tea, with a pound of rare meat
head bending down in an old dog's retreat
from the endless and fearless battles of hate
that come from the relentless delusion of fate

tasteless and wasteful rearranging of style
going on living in a pathetic denial
what is the purpose of love without sex
what is the hope of truth without facts