It used to be boys with limps dicks and muscled wrists,

Wrestling with my goods,

borrowing money to get high,

who drug me down so low.

Mouths frothing lyrics and regret,

they were my morning after

and I would swallow their pills.

The ones who broke their own noses

In restrooms, back alleys, and in bedrooms at house parties.

The ones who think with their noses,

forcing me down on them,

while they're too high to follow through

because cocaine is the best fuck they've ever had.

It used to be men who tickled heart-strings and guitar's veins,

lately decaying voices begging for more,

who had no problems fingering a minor

or two, or three -

monogamy wasn't something they could passionately believe in.

And I thought that I could be more than just a song.