There is a thing called Obsession
It lingers in the soul
It exists in the might mountians
And in the rolling knolls
It twines itself into my mind
And chokes off my ability to speak
And all I can focus on is you
And that leaves me feeling weak
I can think of nothing more than you
For the rest of my days
It becomes my purpose, this little thing,
To think of you in so many ways
I know that I am a madman
That life thinks this is sin
But I figure, how can it be wrong
For a man to want the love of men?