The Crop And The Pest - The Receiving End Of Sirens

Come away

Come away with me

You perfect, perfect shell

You nautilus, nautilus

I will treat you so well

I’ll take you up from this hell

My gracious host

You’re my lover

Won’t you be my concubine?

The pleasure’s all mine

Your pleasures are all mine

To twist and turn around

In figure eights and out of place

Refuse the bounty of his right for the hunger of his left hand

I’m the fervor of the fever you can’t sweat

I’m the garments stuck to your skin

Drenched and dripping wet

I’m a spring of flowing fume and fret

A barren spring of fume and fret is coursing its way

Through everything inside of me

And I know what won’t ever sink

Will slowly swim to the bottom

Just promise not to see me as I am (Or what I’ll become)

A pestilential scab

The scarlet of sunburned skin

I will stick to you like a wet cloth (You just can’t shed)

I will cling to you like a child to his mother’s breast

A fertile crop, I won’t be shed

I saw my shining shield and armor rust

I felt my posture bow and fall to dust

But all the vigils, and the stakes I claimed

Couldn’t take the sting from out my shame

Couldn’t take the color from the stain that I became

The stain that I became

I’m the fervor of the fever you can’t sweat

I’m the garments stuck to your skin

Drenched and dripping wet

I’m a spring of flowing fume and fret

I’m the melody stuck inside your head

What have I become?