Eleventh Century Folklore

Arched back and a couple of slit wristsHow often can you tell me that I can't love youJust maybe I canJust maybe I canSomehow I'll break those armsAnd someday I'll break those armsWatching Jesus ChristEmerge in the form of a firearmI sit back and relaxI sit back and relaxMy wife of forty yearsI raped herHe began that day like any otherHolding hands with savory little beautiesLet them know that you love themAnd tell them all you want is to be cared forThat's all you wantIs to be cared forThat's all you wantIs to be cared forIs to be cared forHer eyes were calmAnd her hands were cold