Whats a man supposed to be, taking more than we gave
How are we supposed to see, crying while we're enslaved
I like it, he treats me well
Knocking at my door, makes me feel like a bore
Maybe we could be sound, try and see just how it feels
I'm going down pound for pound, watching as the skin repeals
I like it, he treats me well
Knocking at my door, makes me feel like a bore
He knows me, he takes my brain
Going on a ride, no where else i can hide
When i reach out he takes my hand
Then he cuts it off and puts it in a special box