Morning Sickness Paroles

you always tell me what i want to
i'll ask it anyways
the bed you've fallen onto, is it the one i left you on today?

one in one thousand chances, to put it so you'll understand
the protrusive organisms produce
as you use this orgasm

horizontal in a backseat, on the center console

the soul enters it's embrio, insignificant, not empty though
enthused in adolescent catalysts
invisible to naked eyes

i get to say i let you see what it is you listen to

you only hear what you want to
i'll say it anyways
the bed you've fallen onto, isn't the one i left you on today