Ill met, ill starred, the sweat, the scars
The back seat of the car, caught up in the sex
The ties that bind, his thoughts, her mind
Why something doesn't connect...
The rush, the drool, his push, her pull
The slushy gender pool, survive and protect
Ill met, the lips, the tongues that dart apart
For whatever's next

Well, now, what then, they count to ten
And sense the current direct
This heat, this burn so sweet, they've learned
This stuff will never turn out as they expect
Well then, what now? Again they've found
What somehow still resurrects:
A fit, a freeze, a pretty please
Drop down upon the knees and...
Whatever next

Whatever's next, what ever's next

A clenching fist, a wrench, a twisted kiss
Will salvage this wreck
The steam, the windows stream and in
The back seat of the car they never suspect –
Out in the dark the Demiurge Avenger
Auto-elect...
Ill met, the gun is cocked
Though once they swore they'd be forever...
Always is next