And the Fascist love you drilled into me
would cause soft and supple tears
to slip from Mussolini’s eyes.
And you could sew a long, black flag
and drape it right before my door
and when all of my clothes have holes
I’d wrap myself in it.

And you want me to submit, honey
like a wild turkey with a
barrel to its purple, feathered head.
All your bedposts have the knots
of knobby moves shaved down to sex
and I’m amazed at girls who fall so fast.

Honey, honey, honey, honey, reach for it: pride.
Honey, honey, honey, honey, reach for it: pride.

And you break the necks of pigeons
with your leather, steel-toed boots
‘cause you’re the sickest bastard that I know.
Call me sadomasochist, but
call me any time. You’ll find
my number on the inside of your arm.