I keep it quiet but I bet you could guess
I'm not nearly so nice as my resume suggests
I want bad things you know it's really true
I might even want to do bad things with you
I keep it buttoned up oh I am so reserved
conceal my blackest heart, what I think I deserved
you'd think it colorful, you'd think it was a stunt
If I told you about all the bad things I want
I wash the dishes I take out the trash
I wash my face trim my beard and mustache
I keep my mouth shut, eyes might look a little mad
with the pressure of the wanting to do something bad
well will I ever slip let my fists unclench
will I ever let my black angel get off the bench
and run with it when you all expect me to punt
whispered instructions in his ear:
get me some of those bad things I want
what
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