The bed's a mess
When we're finished and at rest
And I can just see the post fuck flush across your chest
The telly's silent
The room's lit only by the screen
And now we're perfect moulds
With just our pulses in between
Well, I'm not listening to what my mother said
What we're doing inside my bed
And I'm not pretending this time you're someone else
But I'm cleaning these sheets all by myself
Afterwards is best
You get up to get dressed
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