It’s five a.m. and there’s only a stick of butter in my hand
A pool of drool forming at my splintered lips
An injurious trek into and injurious land
Justifiable only by the screaming of your erotic hips

Quiescence as your quietus implements
Sticks of rock and nobody’s finding out
What you know about these rusty condiments
And their friends I hear so much about

I let you in tonight, another savior in the moonlight
The cold dark breeze on your gentle thighs
Quite a renegade passion I feel in this ravenous might
It’s the only thing I keep from the other guys.

And everything is strange about this
A jingle bell tune ringing in my head
Sleeping won’t do, another Christmas filled with bile and piss
It was your mistake letting me let you in, following the words he said

Birds quit singing, start their mourning
As a dove sits gently on my lap
And nothing does it to engender this lion’s roaring
Only the renegade passion lost from every map

A rubber man
As a Trojan comes to make your day
Building the bridges to lands we’ll always ban
But your comfort bids me stay

I will take you, I will take you
To a land of undue, unused rust
And see you once the pair of lost shoes
Worn by and only the whores of trust

But hey, as I said before: It’s five a.m. and there’s only a stick of butter in my hand
A pool of drool forming at my splintered lips
An injurious trek into and injurious land
Justifiable only by the screaming of your erotic hips

Should it be any different
To those who cannot differentiate?
The time of time is bent
Butter sticky and a stuffed man can only hate