A gun, a fist, a net, a cist

There is no stopping these actions

A hug, a kiss, a tug of bliss

There is no rhyme or reason

If I could change, these elastic craves, I would wish for passion

For it seems that upon these knees, that I hold no devotion

Hear me now, for I scream it loud, that my hands are stained with this stagnation

Change me please, I need to see . . .

a world of pure emotion