My body is so crap at staying true,
To my will and the way I'd like to be,
My father's fist is a brick in my heart,
As my face speckled with hormones,
My mouth closed in retreat,
I mistreated my poor bones and felt the warm hand of defeat,
A tip-tap of the finger a heavy drop of the sigh,
I though then I held back the shutting shut of an eye
Scars on my body are testing the value of time,
But I am a grown man and to touch is a personal crime,
It never gets easy the sense and the tension compete,
As a grown man I'm useless, oh but I'm driven by the fear