Should there be songs?
Should my hair be long?
Should my stare be strong?
Do nightmares belong, on the prairie at dawn?
Do I dare to fawn over fair-faced blonds?
Should there be bonds to their hair undrawn?
Should my prayers be bronze? Are affairs so wrong?
I have been told,
that my skin is exceptionally smooth
But what good is that?
When to get to my heart
You have to crawl through tight tunnels of sharp rock