Those greasy falanges, 5 digits drawing figures,
fingerin the way, see how they bend at the end of our limbs,
got nailed...a symbol of trust, a sign of respect probing the places
we`d rather forget, a greeting when meeting, eating, competing.
I know hwere you put `em, put `er there. We`ll ignore that we`re
each other & our secrets are all lies, clasp & grasp and
put our similarities aside, in the back yard with the scaper,
in the bathroom with the toilet paper, makin` things all right
on all those lonely nights, every nook and cranny...
Rubbin` ointment on your granny!