Underneath the facade of my masks
There is nothing; not even desire.
Oh, you write? poetry? let's discuss...
Later on we can fuck for an hour.

All I needed from you was plain sex,
But I love how you speak out your mind:
You create for the air of creation itself,
Or write poems without ever knowing.

Yeah, I still need from you that old sex
Though by now it is taking us hours
To make sure it's not mine, neither yours,
To make sure it's completely ours.