I was raised to fear all men
so I grew to love them men I should fear
Now,
-alone in the bathroom-
hurting, crying, regretting
I'm scraping the filth from my skin with my eyes in the mirror
I'm digging for memories and finding more dirt
If my fear had eyes to track its source it would be beaten black and blue
It would suffer blow after blow to the back of its head at every turn
I'm thinking about the man who makes me shake in my skin
and turns my shoulders into lead
I'm thinking about the love I feel
-the dirt and the hurt and the regret-
I keep digging and digging but you my love
-my fear itself-
are the only thing I will not forget