| Golden bars of sunlight come sneaking through the shutters |
| Laying stripes on my back, like a zebra |
| Sweaty fingers turning pages, and clinging to the bed |
| Like it’s a bride and I never want to leave her |
| Paul calls me a saint and the mattress shakes with laughter |
| And the sheets let out a chuckle while the pillow holds one in |
| I don’t believe a word I read, but the man is so convincing |
| Says You’re calling me a winner of a game I never win |
| But with everyword I read I feel Your eyes upon me |
| And I don’t mind at all |
| I love the way You look at me, the way You steer Your eyes |
| To see the bride beneath the harlot’s skin, the vitue underneath the sin |
| I love the way You look at me, when You lift the veil and You repeat Your vow |
| Get up for the shower, wash, and scrub and scour every part |
| As if a cleaner man could better bear the shame |
| Now, I move out into the sunlight, a frightened fool |
| There’s a reason for my fright, for I’m a messenger who’s forgetting why he came |
| For when You look at me, You see every drop of blood You spent |
| Like the color that comes creeping to my face |
| It is such sweet embarrassment to see the dowry that You paid for my cold |
| embrace |
| But I’ll never let you go because… |