Her eyes and words are so icy
Oh, but she burns
Like rum on the fire

Hot and fast and angry
As she can be
I walk my days on a wire

It looks ugly, but it's clean
Oh, momma, don't fuss over me

The way she tells me
I'm hers and she is mine
Open hand or closed fist
Would be fine
The blood is rare
And sweet as cherry wine

Calls of guilty thrown at me
All while she stains
The sheets of some other

Thrown at me so powerfully
Just like she throws
With the arm of her brother

But I want it, it's a crime
That she's not around most of the time

The way she shows me
I'm hers and she is mine
Open hand or closed fist
Would be fine
The blood is rare
And sweet as cherry wine

Her fight and fury is fiery
Oh, but she loves
Like sleep to the freezing

Sweet and right and merciful
I'm all but washed
In the tide of her breathing

And it's worth it, it's divine
I have this some of the time

The way she shows me
I'm hers and she is mine
Open hand or closed fist
Would be fine
The blood is rare
And sweet as cherry wine