Where The Ancient Laurel Grows

I wish that he and I at least once in a While
Had something small in common ...- a secret, if you like
But there's no common ground here, not a single thing we share
On the same Planet we live, but in two different Worlds.

He clearly did not like me
That part was plain to see
The very moment that he laid his grey Eyes on me
His buff, muscular body
Like the old cliché Marine
Oh, not too many times before
(thank goodness) have I seen...

So much contemp on a single white Man's face
His Fists were cluteched so tightly that his brute fingernails
Left bleeding Marks in the rouch palms on his Hands
All just to ensure that we would never become friends!

If I felt like jesting now
Which, believe me, I am not
I might compare his red face to a boiling teapot
Or an old Locomotive
Far too quickly building up steam
Its mightly Kettle seen to expolode, if he finds no quick Release.

Do you think it's strange of me to hope someday he will marry me
Or at least feel the strongest need to hold me when I fall & bleed?
Oh, I wish that he and I were just a little more alike
Or had a tiny Thing in common ...- oh, wouldn't that be nice...

Yes, he sleeps nakedly, while I always sleep fully dressed
He is full of Life, I am mostly depressed
I guess, that's why I wish that he would want to take a walk with me
Through lonely Fields of Sorrow, the only place i've ever seen...

In vagued Daydreams I'm dreaming about Stains of his Semen
Put precisely on me, more as a ... "theory"
Sometimes I wish that He would fondly think of me
Each time he strokes his Penis...- or when the Clock strickes Three.