The Function Of The Orgasm

It's half past eight, and I'm waiting 
In a beautiful place 
Anticipating everything we'll do 
And all we'll say. 
Till your father sees you again 
Now I don't know just what you're doing 
Is it me or him 
That you're screwing? 
But I don't care and you don't care 
When you're here 

Now the storm is here 
I see you running 
Your face full of tears. 
So red and burning 
And I can't work out 
How you spend 
Another day with him 

Just say the word 
You know I'll do it 
I'm waiting for you 
Just let me do it 
And we can run away to another place. 
Less full of fear.